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cricketnationrise · 4 years

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Lil ransom POV that’s been knocking around since Nurseyweek

seemed like a good time to post

_X_

Ransom loves Samwell, even if he can only make it down for Alumni Weekend.

This was the place where he had met his best friends, played swasome hockey, and made some banging spreadsheets, if he does say so himself. And he does. Because Excel backed him up.

“Yo, Ransom! What’s up?!” Ransom spins around at the sound of his name, and then –

“Oh, chill.”

He really should have braced himself. Nursey always was like a puppy. But like a Newfoundland puppy. Or some other puppy that doesn’t realize how big they are. Because now he and Nursey are both on the ground.

In the back of his mind, Ransom knows they are completely in the way of people trying to get to class, but he’s just so glad to see Nursey in person that he doesn’t care.

“Nursey! What have we said about curbing your enthusiasm?”

“That I shouldn’t because it’s a delightful part of my personality?” Nursey asks.

“5 points to Nursey!”

They finally manage to untangle themselves enough to stand up and move off the sidewalk, Ransom initiating a proper hug. “It’s good to see you, got time for Annie’s?”

“Chyeah for sure! Oh man, I have so much to tell you.” And they’re off. Just like Ransom never left. It’s comforting to know that Nursey can still ramble on with the best of them. He was worried about Nursey a little bit this year. He knew first-hand how hard senior year could be, especially with an A on his jersey. Listening to Nurse go off about his classes, how much he missed Bitty’s baking, how much more terrifying Chowder is in goal this year, Ransom grins. Nursey seems to have gained a new version of his chill. He seems happy, and in control of things.

One of the first things they bonded over was their respective anxiety. Ransom is glad that Nursey is starting senior year in a much healthier mental place than he did. One thing off Ransom’s mental worry checklist.

“…And yeah, now that Dex is captain we have all these morning practices again, like Jack, but not quite so early, thank god. He’s doing a good job with the new freshmen; they really look up to him. He’s started making bread, actually? I think Bitty sent him a recipe. Oh, and Chowder and Farms are even cuter this year than ever before, its nauseating man. But all three of us are in a class together, actually! It’s really chill, we’re taking that photography class like Jack took! Dex suggested it – which was totally chill of him. He was all its arty for you Nursey, Chowder is enthusiastic about everything, and its technical enough that I won’t feel totally lost. Like how cool is that? It’s a really cool class, relaxing, weirdly. Like, meditative, ya know? Anyway, tell me about you, man. It’s been too long since we caught up!”

As they get in line at Annie’s, Ransom fills him in on working with Holster and applying to med school for next year.

“Yeah so I figured out I want to be research focused, and probably kid-focused? Like, I want to be able to help kids with what I’m researching, so I’ve been looking into what I need for that, but it’s going well, I think. Hilariously, no one at work seems to realize that Holster and I a) know each other and b) are dating already. I’ve had 4 people in the last week come up to me and ask if I’m seeing anyone because Adam in the other department would be PERFECT for me. Truly amazing.”

“That’s hilarious, holy shit.”

“What can I get you today?” the barista asks.

“I’ll get a vanilla latte, please,” Ransom says.

“And I’ll have a Chai Latte with a shot of vanilla. Oh, also a Hot Honey Ginger Lemon Tea. Thanks, Steph,” Nursey rattles off.

They collect their drinks and head toward the Haus without needing to talk about anything in particular. It’s always restful just hanging out with Nursey. Ransom is the most extrovert ever to extrovert, but even he needs down time sometimes, and Nursey can be, dare he say it, chill, when he wants to be. Also, it’s a beautiful fall day, and it’s nice to just soak it up. Nursey is probably composing like 5 poems in his head about it right now.

Walking up the steps to the Haus, Ransom pauses a little, just to savor the moment. He’s been back before this, obviously, but it’s getting harder to visit, and once he’s in med school, it’ll be even rarer. He wants to keep this place in his memory forever.

“Dex! You’re alive!” he hears Nursey yell from the kitchen. Walking in himself, he sees Dex, looking utterly miserable. He’s wrapped in a blanket, wearing his roadie flannel sweatpants, his SMH hoodie, and – is that Nursey’s green beanie? Ransom blinks, trying to process.

“Hey Nursey. Hey Ransom,” Dex rasps out, trying to smile at Ransom before coughing a little.

“Oh hey, I got you this from Annie’s since you weren’t feeling well this morning,” says Nursey, “It’s the you tea.”

“Thanks. The U tea?” Dex asks before taking a sip and sighing in apparent delight.

“No, the YOU, Y-O-U tea, the Dex tea,” Nursey says.

“Why is it the Dex tea?” Ransom asks.

“It’s the Hot Honey Ginger Lemon tea,” Nursey explains.

Dex goes bright red, and Ransom would blame the coughing fit he has, but it definitely started in his ears and is it just him or do those coughs sound a little forced?

“Did you just get him the only thing with Ginger in the name?” Ransom asks, amused. Dex narrows his eyes at Ransom while Nursey looks in the fridge for a snack. Good to know that Dex’s crush on Nursey is healthy as ever, even when he’s not.

“No, but that’s an added bonus,” Nursey says, “I got him tea because tea always helps my throat. The ginger, lemon, and honey all work really well together for a cold; my moms swear by it, I always had it growing up. No it’s the Dex tea because its ginger like your hair, obviously, and honey like your eyes, sorta, and lemon like your attitude when you’re stressed, and hot because – “ Nursey pauses like he just realizes he was on the verge of waxing poetic about Dex.

“Hot because what?” Ransom asks. Ransom is outright grinning now, while Dex is looking determinedly into his cup like maybe he could drown himself in it, blushing more deeply than Ransom has ever seen him. And Nursey – Nursey is visibly putting on a layer of chill, of armor. He catches Ransom’s eyes, nods once, takes a deep breath, and finishes the thought,

“And hot because you’re hot, Dex.”

“What.”

“You heard me.”

“I – wow, Nurse. I don’t know what to say.”

“You could say yes.”

“I could say yes?” Dex asks in a small voice.

“To whether you’d come on a date with me when you feel better.”

“I – I –,” Dex looks at Nursey intently, probably trying to see whether he’s serious or chirping. Ransom holds his breath. If they remember that he’s here, they might not ever get this far again.

“Yes. I’d like that.”

“Did you just say yes?” Nursey asks, smile starting to break out.

“Yes. When I don’t feel like death on toast. Yes.” Dex is smiling too.

“Chi – “

“GUYS!” Ransom interrupts before Nursey can say chill, and also because he’s legit tearing up right now, “If I wasn’t so damn happy for you both I’d be fining the hell out of you.”

“Like you could, I’m the captain now.”

“Yeah but the group chat would back me up on the sap level in the kitchen right now,” Ransom smirks.

“Alright, fair.” Dex says, taking another sip of his tea. His blankets slip down to his elbows now, exposing the number. But instead of #24, C there is very clearly a different number. #28, A.

Nursey falls off his chair in his attempt to make sure that what he’s seeing is real.

“Dexy, are you wearing my hoodie? And my hat?”

Ransom’s phone chimes.

Holster: U @ the Haus? I’m omw with Chowder and Whiskey rn

“Maybe.”

Me: yup It finally happened btw

“Maybe? Dex its right there!”

Holster: what happened? The railing finally gave out?

“Maybe they’re comfortable. And warm. I’m sick.”

Me: nah man Well maybe idk Haven’t left the kitchen But Dex and Nursey They’re goin on a date

“Well maybe if I’d known how hot it is to see you in my clothes I would have asked you out sooner,” Nursey says flirtatiously.

Holster: !!!!!! DUDE HOLY SHIT DEETS RANS I NEED DEETS

“I signed up for this. I literally signed up for this,” Dex groans.

Ransom: Nursey brought him tea That reminded him of Dex Because it’s the hot honey ginger lemon tea And he got to why hot reminded him of dex And was actually smooth??? That was a trip to watch Dex said yes And now they are bickering again But like its sweet?

“Yeah you did, Dexy. Can’t get rid of me now. You know I’m ride or die.”

Holster: HOLY SHIT I’m so proud of them Chowder is crying btw Oh wait Now he’s sprinting toward the Haus So Incoming

Me: 👍

“Hey lovebirds.” Nursey and Dex look over at him, both surprised he is still here. They definitely forgot about him. “Chowder’s on his way. Also Holster and Whiskey. So. Get pumped for that because the groupchat isn’t far behind.”

Dex puts his head on the table and groans unintelligibly. Nursey just beams and puts his arm around Dex’s shoulders, “Oh, nice. Now we don’t have to stress about when to tell him.”

Ransom just laughs and preps the text he’s gonna send to the groupchat. He really should try to visit more often. Ransom loves Samwell.

_X_

#ransom #holster #nursey #dex #if you don't think nursey calls him hot honey ginger lemon idk what to tell you #ransom pov #with a little nurseydex #as a treat #because of who I am as a person #nurseydex #Rachel writes

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solarune · 4 years

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drop out

@rasapad said: Hello! Here’s an idea: “Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” + Renjun, and motorcyclist au… except let’s make it fun and have the reader as the one with the motorbike!

pairing: huang renjun x reader

genre: angst, some fluff, college au

warnings: swearing

word count: 1,996

a/n: my first renjun fic!! hopefully i got his characterization right, please let me know what you think!

Renjun has never been one to take risks. Before every choice he makes, he always makes a mental list of pros and cons, thinking of every single outcome possible and what they could potentially lead to. Do the pros outweigh the cons? Does this benefit him in the long run or this is only temporary? Will he get hurt?

Renjun never takes risks but when it comes to you, it’s very hard to say no.

And that’s exactly how he finds himself on the back of your motorcycle, hands clasped together over your torso as he holds on for dear life while you zoom down the highway. You weave around cars and buses alike to avoid the traffic, some of them honking at the two of you, but unlike Renjun, you like taking risks. Where Renjun is logical, you’re emotional. Where Renjun is overthinking, you’re spontaneously doing. The two of you are exact opposites and it’s for that reason that you’re best friends and for that reason that Renjun caught feelings for you. How could he not? You’re everything he isn’t. You with your confidence, no bullshit attitude, easy laughter, and attention-grabbing aura. You’re everything he wants to be.

You reach a red light on the way to your destination and Renjun’s grip finally loosens to allow his hands to rest for a few seconds. The leather jacket that you’re wearing squeaks as you turn to look over your shoulder at him and you push the visor of your helmet up to reveal a bright smile. His heart skips a beat and he clears his throat, raising an eyebrow and asking in a bored voice, “So are you going to tell me where we’re going or are you just going to keep on driving? I would at least like to know which ditch I’m potentially going to be left for dead in because of this metal death trap you’ve forced me on to.”

You roll your eyes with a smile still on your face as one of your hands leaves the handlebars to gently hit his leg. “We’re not going to die, Junnie, you’ve been on my motorcycle enough times to know that! And-”

“And yet I still feel like I’m close to death every time I get on,” he interrupts you. “Funny how that works.”

“And no, I’m not telling you where we’re going,” you continue with a pointed look after his rude interruption. “It’s a surprise!”

“You know I hate surprises,” he grumbles but his words are lost in the sound of your motorcycle’s engine revving the second the light turns green. His grip on you tightens once more and when he lets out a squeak when he feels you accelerate, he prays to every higher power out there that you didn’t hear him. It would only cause you to go faster and it’s taking everything in Renjun to not press his entire body up against you and hide his face in your neck until you get to your destination.

Renjun doesn’t even notice that he falls asleep until you’re shaking him awake, soft voice calling out his name while the two of you just sit on your parked motorcycle. His vision is blurry from just waking up but it doesn’t explain why everything is dark and he begins to panic and is about to call out to you for help when he realizes that he’s still wearing your spare helmet.

“You’ve been overworking yourself, haven’t you, Junnie?” you question him as you take the helmet from his hands. “I don’t know why you keep doing this to yourself, you know that lack of sleep and caffeine just end up making you more tired.”

Renjun huffs as he rubs at his tired eyes. He knows that but-

“I can’t afford to waste any time, (Y/N). My classes as a second year music theory major are some of the hardest classes I’m going to take, I can’t afford to fail.”

The two of you have had this argument before; Renjun telling you that sacrificing proper sleep is necessary to maintain his perfect GPA and you telling him that taking a 15 minute break and getting at least 8 hours of sleep twice a week isn’t going to kill him. It’s like you’re both talking to a brick wall but neither of you are willing to back down. Renjun wants to succeed and you just want to keep your best friend alive and functioning.

But you don’t argue with him this time. “I know,” you simply reply, and Renjun is taken aback. No snarky response? No threats to his life? What the hell is going on? “Anyways, we’re here!”

When he looks around, all he sees are trees and grass lit up only by the moon. That’s it, Renjun thinks to himself. I’m going to die here. You begin to walk deeper into the forest and Renjun scrambles off of your bike and runs to catch up with you, the darkness of the unfamiliar forest keeping him on edge. “Can you please tell me what we’re doing here?” he asks. He doesn’t care if he sounds scared or desperate because those are the only two things he’s feeling right now. “Because the more we walk, the more I feel like you’re going to murder me-”

The two of you emerge out onto a cliff and the entire city is laid out before you. It’s enough to take Renjun’s breath away as he stares down at all of the lights, and even in the dark, he can just make out all of the cars on the highway that you were on before. When he takes a deep breath and the cold night air enters his lungs, Renjun feels like he’s at the top of the world. When he looks over at you, he finds that you’re already looking at him with a fond smile on your face and Renjun can’t help but smile back. “This place is amazing, (Y/N)!” he exclaims. “How did you even find it?”

You take a seat on the edge of the cliff, your feet dangling off and swinging in the air, and you pat the ground beside you as a silent request for him to sit beside you. “I was just driving around one night looking for a place to think and just happened to come here.” You shrug and don’t even look up at him as you pull up handfuls of grass. “It’s been around a month since I first found it and I thought it was finally time to bring you here.”

Renjun only nods in response and a comfortable silence falls over the two of you while the wind and muffled sounds from the city provide you with background noise.

“Do you think the moon is jealous of how pretty you are?” you ask randomly and Renjun swears he almost topples off the cliff from how fast his entire body turns to look at you. You’re staring up at the moon and even though you’re not looking at him, Renjun can tell that you have a strange look in your eyes. He doesn’t like that. “I’ve always thought that moon is pretty, but to be honest…” Your eyes finally meet his and a sad smile appears on your face. “I think you’re prettier.”

All Renjun can do is stare at you as he attempts to process what you just said to him. “Are you okay?” he asks, leaning forward to touch the back of his hand to your forehead. “Are you sick? Why are you being so weird tonight?”

You swat his hand away with a laugh, but the happiness on your face is short-lived and is immediately replaced by a somber expression. “I’m not sick, Junnie, I’m fine.”

When Renjun looks at you, he can tell there’s more you want to say but you just don’t know how. So he waits in silence, allowing you to gather your thoughts and giving you the time that you need to say what you want. Maybe her dog died, Renjun thinks to himself, trying to think of every possible thing that could have happened that would cause you to be this serious around him. Or she had a bad day, maybe it was her idiotic chemistry lab partner. Or-

“I dropped out today,” you finally blurt out. “Like, out of college.”

All of the air feels like it just got knocked out of Renjun’s lungs. “You what? Why?” It’s okay, it’s fine, he reassures himself. She’s always been impulsive. Maybe she just needed this semester off and she’ll come back next year. And it’s not like I’ll never see her again.

“I’m moving to America to live with my sister.”

No.

“What the fuck, (Y/N)?” Renjun practically shouts as he jumps up from his seat on the ground. “This isn’t funny, stop joking around.”

“I’m not joking around, Renjun,” you say softly as you get up to stand in front of him. “I’m leaving in 2 weeks.”

Renjun. You never call him that. It’s always ‘Junnie’ or ‘Jun’ or ‘idiot’. Never ‘Renjun’.

His vision goes blurry and Renjun doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until he feels tears running down his cheeks. He wipes away at them angrily as he glares at you. “What the fuck were you thinking, (Y/N)? Why didn’t you tell me you were thinking of dropping out? I could have helped you, we could have figured this out together!”

“This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” you respond, and Renjun can hear frustration in your voice. “I knew you would be like this. You wouldn’t understand-”

“Understand what?” he asks. “Understand that you just threw your entire life away?”

“Understand that this is me finally starting to live the life that I want!” you retort and at this point, you’re both shouting at each other. Your fights have never been like this before and the anger between you two is so visceral that it makes Renjun even more scared. “I don’t belong here, Renjun; in this school, this city, this country. There’s so many things the world has to offer that I wouldn’t ever learn in school and I want to find out what they are. I’m tired of sitting still. I want to do something.”

Renjun doesn’t know what to say at this point. You’ve always been restless but he didn’t think it would come to this. You’re taking a big risk and even though the decision was never his, he still feels scared.

“I’m not like you, Junnie.” Your voice is soft and when Renjun looks at you, all he sees is sadness and uncertainty, plain as day on your face. “There isn’t one thing I particularly like enough to study, I don’t have a dream job, I’m not passionate about something that’s able to make me a ton of money in the real world. At this point, I don’t even know what the hell comes after moving to America. But I need to get out of here.”

More silence. Renjun can’t bring himself to say anything. His mind is blank.

“I wish it wasn’t like this. I wish I could be like you,” you confess. “You’re always so sure of yourself, you always know the right choices to make to get to where you want to be. You’re so smart, Junnie. I wish I could be like that.”

Renjun’s hand balls up into a fist at his side. “You are smart, (Y/N), don’t you dare think otherwise. I may not agree with your decision but I always knew deep down that college isn’t meant for you.”

He looks back out onto the view of the city. I’ve always wanted to be like her but she wants to be like me. How ironic. Now he knows why you brought him here after all this time. You were waiting for the right moment. “I just wish you weren’t leaving me.”

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likesomekindofcheese · 4 years

Note

What about HC for Joe and Rami dating a british person and HC for Gwill and Ben dating an american?

Hi there! That’s a wonderful idea! I am American so the idea of dating Ben or Gwil and the cute cultural differences! Though feel free to take my idea of British! Y/N with a grain of salt. Thanks for sharing!

Ben dating an American would include...

You have to learn about cricket and rugby!

Which means going to games with hot chocolate on a cold day and him explaining every last rule!

Trying British Food all the time! You find you enjoy pies lot-dinner pies with cheese and meat in them. Though when you cook for Ben he will eat every bite and then pat his stomach childishly after.

Different terms for things and getting used to it!

I think the Fourth of July would be fun He would like the beer and fireworks and fun teasing about him losing.

You try not to gush over his accent because you’re a dime a dozen (but British people, you sound AMAZING to our American ears! And with Ben’s voice being deep there is a sexy edge to it and it drives you w i l d)

Going to a pub is normal, if not a bit boring. You wonder if they are interested at all.

He poshes up their accent around your parents or even his!

STEALING his JUMPERS!

They avoid difficult conversations and not ask a lot of questions.

Polite to a fault, but you make sure to say what you want in a relationship.

Your directness helps!

They have a dry sense of humor and enjoy light teasing

Mentioning different versions of the Office! Seeing the different Micheal Scotts and seeing young Martin Freeman is a blast and you both have a great time having marathons!

They make you quote Game of Thrones with your accent or read things

They are very charming!

You feel more assertive at restaurants. When Ben’s order is wrong, he wants to brush it off. So you alert the waiter politely that something is very off and they scurry off and get him the right plate of food and he smiles so large it touches his ears!

Gwil dating an American would include...

At first, he seems polite to the point of standoffishness and it made you a bit sad. But he was always very polite (he says he seems grumpy to some people). But then you opened up more to each other and eventually, he asked you out!

There would be teasing about each other’s accents and different slang words. But playful and well-intentioned.

Though Gwil has Welsh ancestry (hence his name and everything else) so you learn bits of Welsh as well and that mixture of cultures.

You both try different types of tea and you are determined to make him the right cup. But he insists that any cup made by you is worth drinking.

Lots of traveling! He would see all sorts of small parts of America and you get to see cities from Liverpool to Oxford

But IT’s SO COLD IN THE UK! You go in March and bundle up like it was January and he laughs at how cute and soft you look beneath your coat and scarf and hat.

He isn’t into PDA (which surprised you) and he is a bit more private about physical affection. So when he kisses you once you’re in private, it means even more!

He would love your independence. You tend to split the bill more when you go out.

He decided to meet your parents and you were panicking. It might as well be a step to something serious. But he was more relaxed, insisting it was not that big of a deal- and he wound up charming both of them!

Trying each other's tv shows! All! The! Time! And reviewing them over snacks Though you gush over Downton Abbey and he says “well...it’s alright!” and you say “just alright?!?” and laugh.

You’re surprised at how much he drinks sometimes and the few times he was drunk he was smiley and hugged you and was as affectionate as a toddler. You put him to bed and laughed as he starfished on his stomach on the mattress and cuddled you like you were his stuffed toy.

Usually, there are muted, simpler expressions of love. Asking about each other’s hobbies. Holding hands while watching a movie. Things like that.

He got to spend Thanksgiving and some of Christmas with your family. They were all wide-eyed and in awe of him. They kept getting to talk because they couldn’t get enough of his accent. People are like ooooo when they check the guy out and then turned to look at you in slight envy and cute teasing. You clearly won with this handsome British gentleman.

Despite the differences in some tv show tastes, you both are as happy as squirrels.

Joe dating a Brit would include...

The first date would be comfy. Joe would be nervous but when you show up in a shirt and jeans to a coffee shop, he relaxes more. He would dress up more and bring flowers and you were expecting something like a hang out so you were surprised!

There would be so much Banter! Your humor is dry and he is goofier but your discussions and little “arguments” are hysterical and a lot of fun!

But you were hesitant to date Joe. You didn’t want him to think you were an “easy target.” But he didn’t think that at all!

It surprised you how so cuddly Joe was! He always wanted to grab your hand or hold you or put you on his lap on a restaurant or things like that! Eventually, you got comfortable with it!

And you’re so sarcastic! Your wit and dripping comments leave him howling on the floor.

You don’t always drink a cuppa. When Joe took you to a tea shop in Britain as a date, you still enjoyed it. You sipped on tea and ate cakes and he couldn’t believe how much food there was in one sitting!

He learns to make that cup of tea or coffee or whatever you like!

But you have great taste in music. Often you go to record shops and listen to stuff all the time.

Britain has a long history of wonderful artists and bands, and you introduce him to artists and groups he never heard of.

Next thing you know, you wake up to Joe making pancakes and singing along to some obscure British pop group.

He is amazed at how you are never too cold! Joe on the other hand bundles up!

But American winds up being hot and muggy. You have to wear shorts and run for air-conditioned buildings (he teases that he likes you in shorts for you cute booty, though, of course!)

You always evoke empathy! You’re actually kind and deeply caring for others and when you shine that kindness for others it makes Joe fall for you even harder.

You teach him British slang and he loves it.

“It’s a loo or toilet, right? What are diapers?”

“Nappies!”

“That’s adorable for diapers!”

When you’re making out you softly say that Joe is the fittest guy ever and he gets confused.

“Well, I don’t have a six-pack yet....”

And you blush and laugh and say “No! I mean...fit means “hot” not just like “athletic!”’

Joe admires your confidence and strength. You’re his rock.

Rami dating a Brit would include...

The first impression is important for Rami. Although you are relaxed and happy on the first date, he goes to the nines and takes you to a fancy place and spoils you rotten. But it’s so cute!

You’re so polite to him! You seem so dignified and use your manners and it makes him swoon inside!

You would travel and see Rami’s family and learn about their history. It’s very sweet and you see all of his cute baby photos!

Though you poke fun at the way he pronounces “vitamins” so he teases you back using his British accent (sometimes saying a Freddie line or two)

You do enjoy a beer! Or a pint! Rami always covers your drinks and your rides!

Though he would be surprised if you drink more than he does! He would be sweet if you were hungover, though. ‘

“You always have wine with dinner?”

“You don’t?”

“You always drink beer! I’m trying to get you to not die!”

“Oh, relax! Have one with me, Rami dear!”

He enjoys pub songs though and will often dance with you to the music playing.

He would love the genuine deeds and attitude you have. You are a good person, but you aren’t fake.

Though he would roll his eyes at reality shows like Love Island, he watches it with you and makes silly observations.

Though you both get into The Great British Bake-off and try some of the recipes!

You appreciate style! And Rami is a fashion icon so whenever you dress up or have to go to a fancy event, you gush over him and take a dozen pictures

He travels to the UK with you and sees your family. He enjoys Christmas for the crackers and keeps the paper hat they make for him.

He always pays the bill at the restaurant which surprises you! But hey, it’s free food from a handsome guy!

You aren’t too talky and he appreciates it. He is more of a quiet and shy man himself. So words mean more.

It’s a romantic, indulgent, and meaningful connection where you learn everything about each other.

You even get Rami addicted to Cheeky Nandos.

Taglist: @queenlover05 @sgt-stardust-killer-queen

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

didn’t know me.

pairing. jhs x reader. rating. general! we are family friendly. tags. this is just... cute. there’s a bit of swearing, teasing, mentions of beer, etc. but nothing bad. wc. 2k. beta reader. my beloved @hobi-gif and my wofe @periminkle! 💖

You’ve always been one to take the things you want, pursuing them with a ferocity your mother calls intense. You have no qualms about decorum or bashfulness. To you, if you’re not the first - you’re the last.

You’d done it all your life. First, in kindergarten, when you’d taken the orange blocks because they were your favourite colour. Then, in high school when you’d tried out for three varsity teams and made it onto all of them. More recently, at work, where you’d demanded (read: gently requested) a raise after you’d consistently been covering for your less-than-reliable manager.

If you wanted something, you went for it. There was seldom anything that could stop you - including your soft-spoken best friend.

“I’m gonna do it.”

It being asking the cute guy waiting in line for his number. It being embarrassing your poor best friend who’s got her face hidden behind your shoulder, soft blonde bangs brushing your cheek as she shakes her head in a poor attempt to deter you.

“Don’t make it weird,” she whispers into the collar of your coat, denim rough against your neck.

“You’re the one making it weird!” The hiss is quiet, gentle. More coaxing than reprimand or displeasure. This is a usual occurrence for the two of you.

Whereas you were relentless, unrepentant - rays of sunlight on the hottest day of summer - she was the softest breeze, barely a ruffle of leaves. You complemented and completed each other and had for the better part of your lives. Exactly why you’d opted to take this trip with her and only her; she was the one person who didn’t drive you absolutely insane after a certain number of days together. She filled all the empty spaces of your puzzle, rather than smothered you with her own shape.

Still, you sometimes had disagreements. Now was one of those times.

“What if he doesn’t speak English?”

She’s being far too realistic, of course, in her patented Ivy way. You have to admit - she has a point. The likelihood of this random stranger even understanding you is slim but you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask. When in Rome Okinawa, right?

“Then I’ll use Google translate,” you retort around a mouthful of laughter, the sound buzzing around your teeth. You’d think they’d stung her by how Ivy recoils, grimacing at you in the same instance you advance a step. “Wish me luck!”

She doesn’t. You don’t care.

A hand reaches out, two fingers poised.

And then he - the cute fellow customer with jet black hair and expensive sneakers on - faces you, but not because you’ve spoken. He turns because his companion has caught his attention, jerking his platinum blond head toward you. At least, you think it’s blond. You really can’t tell with how his bucket hat is pulled so low over his ears, the bottom half of his face obscured by a plain black mask.

The words die on your tongue, suddenly stolen by the sheer beauty of cute guy’s face. He’s disarmingly handsome, with high cheekbones and a perfectly upturned nose. His mouth splits - heart-shaped around bright white teeth - and you can’t help the little tumble your heart takes when he smiles. It brushes itself off before falling all over again, nearly launching itself out of your chest and at his feet.

“Hi?” There’s something lyrical about his voice, like summertime and riding in the car with the windows down. It’s also accented - peculiar in a way that’s strangely familiar. You can’t quite place it.

“Hi!” You all but chirp, probably with the dumbest look on your face. You hope your smile offsets it. “Could I have your number?”

Sunshine - because that’s his nickname for now and it feels terribly fitting - blinks at you, head tilting in a way you can only describe as adorable.

“My number?” It’s an echo, in less of a what the fuck way and more of a did-I-hear-you-right way.

You nod once, twice, a hopeful laugh rolling off your tongue. It slots into the spaces between you and settles, strangely nervous. You’re not used to the anxiety that’s thrumming through your veins and causing a ruckus in your ears.

There’s just something about him.

“Yeah, your number?” As if to illustrate your point better, you raise your phone and wave it about, tapping against the back of your fluorescent pink case. “To text you?”

Realisation dawns, passing in pretty rays over his face. “Oh!” For a moment, he seems ready to give it, every inch of his expression wide open.

Then, all at once, it falls - blinds dropping across a window. He seems deep in thought, his gaze jumping to the blond that’s now made himself comfortable at a table a few feet away, back hunched and attention focused solely on the screen of his Samsung. Your stare follows, traipsing the narrow ridge of the other’s shoulders before swivelling back to the ball of light before you.

God, you can’t get over how good looking he is. It’s almost hard to look at him, yet somehow harder to look away.

“You want… my number?”

“If that’s okay,” you murmur, with your most disarming smile. You know it’s a solid effort - you’ve won parents and bosses over with it. Three years of braces had done you good.

He’s seemingly stuck, torn between giving into the strange girl in front of him and something else you have no idea about. You can practically feel Ivy burning a hole into the back of your skull with each moment that passes. She’s definitely going to hold this against you for at least an hour.

“I can have yours?” A sleek iPhone - no case, to your horror - is fished out of his pocket and offered to you. You can’t help but admire his hands, the way his knuckles wrap around the slim device. “I’ll take your, um, number?”

It’s not what you’d expected. Truthfully, a part of you wonders whether this means he’ll take it and never use it. You hope not.

“Sure,” you agree readily, nodding with a delight that feels a little much for a chance meeting in a random mochi donut shop. You try not to dwell on it as you enter your contact details, passing the phone back over with two hands. “Don’t forget to use it!” It’s meant to be flirtatious, friendly without being too forward. You’re unsure if it’s lost on him. You think it might be by how he beams at you, offering nothing in return.

“Gaja.”

The interruption breaks the stillness between you, spoken so quietly you almost miss it. It comes low and swift from the blond that’s joined Sunshine’s side, stealing his attention from you. You try to hide your disappointment, though it’s quickly replaced by wide-eyed wonder.

You don’t mean to stare - you probably look like a fish out of water - but realisation brings with it unflattering expressions. It’s a simple fact of life.

“Kamsahamnida.” Your Korean is rusty - clearly without practice and uncomfortable on your tongue. For not the first time, you wish you’d been more receptive to your parents’ insistence that you learn.

Surprise flips across Sunshine’s face, thrusting his eyebrows to disappear behind his fringe. Then he grins, so big and unreserved that it really is blinding - like staring directly into the sky on a day without clouds. He looks on the edge of speaking - as if all the words are balanced right behind his teeth, ready to spill out with the same abandon as his joy - before Blondie repeats himself, this time with more urgency.

You’re holding them up. Oh god.

With a swiftness usually reserved for the volleyball court, you sidestep, nearly knocking a lurking best friend over in your haste. Your head is bowed - a decidedly strange gesture for you - and you glance up through a curtain of swept bangs and thick lashes. “Mianhaeyo.” You want to say more but you’re fumbling, trying to find the words you’ve never taken the time to properly study. “I… um...”

There’s a hand in yours, squeezing in reassurance. Or maybe frustration. It isn’t always easy to tell with Ivy.

“It was nice to meet you” is what you settle on.

“You too,” Sunshine returns, far too kindly, with that same brilliant smile that has your jaw aching with the intensity of your own. He’s all but ushered out the door, though he turns at the last minute to wave - a sweet thing that makes you laugh. “I will call!”

Waiting isn’t something you do well. As evidenced by your go-getter attitude, your patience tends to run thin. You want things and you want them now - but it seems that isn’t in your cards. Shit hand, you think.

So you sit and you wait and well, you’re not really sitting and waiting. You’re still living your life and enjoying your vacation. You’ve been to the beach - there’s a neat underground tower Ivy had dragged you to that had you gaping at the fish swimming by at eye level - and you’ve had probably too much taco rice than is strictly speaking necessary.

But you haven’t been able to get him out of your head and it’s driving you more than a little crazy on the third day that you haven’t heard from him.

“Are you listening to me?” It’s Ivy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with two intricately woven bracelets held aloft. They’re both pretty and hardly discernible in their differences. One’s blue and the other is… a slightly darker shade of blue?

“Huh?” Your thoughts are a million miles away, focused solely on the memory of a certain Sunshine boy.

“Which one!” She’s exasperated, flailing her wrists just enough that one trinket whacks you right between the eyes. Okay, so you deserved that.

You’re rubbing at the red mark, turning away in the same instant you speak. “That one.”

“That one?”

“The one on the right!”

She grumbles something that sounds awfully like I hate you but you’re too busy checking your phone to really call her on it. No new messages, save for the three group chats you’re in that absolutely refuse to shut up. You don’t count those.

“A watched pot never boils,” she hums from somewhere behind you, before lapsing into stilted Japanese with the kindly old woman behind the counter.

You know she’s right but that doesn’t change a thing. You check your phone twelve more times between exiting the small jewellery shop and stepping into the karaoke bar. It’s not really that often, you tell yourself. Most millennials sit on their phones for hours! You’re a step above, truly.

Until Airi’s husband is grilling you, poking fun at the fact that you can’t seem to tear yourself away from the device in your hands.

“Don’t forget you’re out,” he teases around the rim of his beer, arm slung comfortably across his wife’s shoulders. “Live in the moment, y’know?”

If you weren’t so close - if they weren’t hosting you at their apartment for this leg of your trip - you’d probably ignore him. As it stands, he’s like an annoying older brother and receives a swift kick to his shin. You grin just as he grimaces, nearly spilling his glass of Sapporo all over his front.

“Hey— you brat!”

“Takes one to know one,” you retort, tongue out and mischief wrapped into every syllable. “Don’t know how you’re married. Didn’t think kids were allowed to.”

Across from you, Airi stifles a snicker and the rest of your group breaks into laughter. You’re in the middle of throwing middle fingers at Sunny when a hand clasps your forearm with an aggression you can’t ignore.

Ivy’s staring at you with eyes the size of saucers, mouth curled into a perfectly shaped ‘O’. A part of you wants to shove a limp fry into it - until you follow the line of her arm, the length of her finger.

Because on the screen - serenading your ragtag group of friends in the terrible voice of Airi’s little brother - is cute-guy-from-donuts. Sunshine.

What the hell?

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound

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shalebridge-cradle · 4 years

Text

When You Smile and it Tears Your Face (It’s Time for the Inhuman Race)

Warnings: Blood. Implied Violence.

“Anna?”

Anna von Kleve, former minor noble of the Holy Roman Empire, pries open her eyes. It’s well into the night – the heavy curtains are drawn, as usual, the grandfather clock is ticking away, and the electric light flickers ominously above her.

She herself is sprawled on the sofa, with her date’s head in her lap. Ah, yes. A night on the town, a few drinks (well, more than a few on her part)… she hopes he’d had a good time.

“In the drawing room,” she calls, lazily.

“Have you seen my book?”

Anna has seen lots of her housemate’s beloved books. So very many volumes she’s collected over the years – in her day, the emperor himself would be hard-pressed to afford such a selection. Still, she’s proud it was a German who invented the printing press and started the whole thing off.

“Which one?”

“Pride and Prejudice, volume three. It’s got a red-brown cover.”

von Kleve frowns, looks around herself, lifts up her date to check under him.

She grimaces.

If the book didn’t have a red cover to begin with, it certainly did now. She never intends for the whole biting-people-and-drinking-their-blood business to be messy, but it always ends up that way. Strange how that happens.

She quickly drops the man’s unconscious body back on top of the book, just as her housemate materialises in the doorway.

Catherine Parr sighs. “Seriously? What have I told you about putting down plastic when you bring your food home?”

“I know, but we get kind of… into it, you know? You know me, I live in the moment – well, not live, but… you get what I’m saying.”

“That’s the problem, hence, the need for plastic.”

A pause.

Anna knows what she’s about to say, and preempts her. “No, not your type. Not terrible, but he couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t his football team.”

“Oh. A pity.” Another pause. “Have you seen my book, though?”

“No books here. Did you leave it at Seymour’s?”

Parr hums. “Possibly. I’ll visit later. It’s your job to get rid of the poor soul, though.”

“Yes, yes, personal responsibility and all that.”

Before Anna leaves, she tucks the first edition under the sofa cushions, and hopes her housemate doesn’t look that hard for her precious book.

~~~

The shovel plunges deep into the black, wet soil, and out again. In, out, in, out, methodical and practiced. The hole needs to be deep enough, and wide enough. She’s underestimated the size before, and that simply causes problems. There are bits that need to stay underground.

Once she is satisfied, and with great care, Jane Seymour places the rose bush into its new home.

Gardening might be considered an odd hobby for someone like her to have. Even if she rarely gets to see the fruits of her labour (which is most certainly a metaphor for something), it keeps her busy and helps her feel productive. It’s terribly easy to fall into a rut if you don’t have something to do, and caring for plants gives her plenty of that.

Just so long as they survive everything.

There is a loud bang from inside the house. Jane turns briefly, listening for something further, before she goes back to patting down the soil.

Another bang, followed by a crash.

Jane squeezes her eyes shut, and growls under her breath. That had better not be anything important.

Really, she should go in and stop them from doing any more damage, but they’d probably just ignore her like they usually do. Maybe you shouldn’t have your thrice-bedamned battle in the house, where there are things that you both like and are easily breakable all over the place. Is that such an unreasonable concept?

A third bang.

“For heaven’s sake,” she grumbles, and makes to get up, turning to her gardening tools. Initially, she shies away from some of them out of instinct, but… then again… this may the only way they’ll listen…

The fearsome duel is still going on when Jane reaches the hall.

One combatant has a name she knows well, mostly because she insists on using the whole thing whenever she is introduced. Catalina Trastámara de Aragón, former Spanish infanta. The other has gone by many different but similar names – Anna de Boullan, Anna Bolina, Nan Bullen, but she generally responds to ‘Anne’, so that’s what they go with.

Catalina has her hand around Anne’s neck, hoisting her up in the air, whilst Anne has a hold on Catalina’s arm, hissing up a storm. Another bang – Catalina slamming Anne against the wall – sends a cloud of dust trickling down on top of them.

Jane enters, in her gardening smock, boots too big for her, a straw hat (you must always wear a hat while gardening, though Jane isn’t sure why), and with a wooden gardening stake in each hand.

“Down! Both of you!”

Anne turns her head slightly, and her eyes widen when she sees what Jane’s holding. “Shit.”

This gets Catalina’s attention, too, but she manages to keep the quiet part quiet. She releases her grip, and Anne sinks to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Catalina recovers her regal demeanour, or at least part of it. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Have you? Look at what you’re doing! What on earth is noble and queenly about repeatedly smacking your housemate into a wall?!” Jane stops to compose herself. “What is it this time? Territorial dispute? Long-standing grudge you refuse to talk about? Monopoly?”

“Anne? How many glasses would you say are in the sink?”

...No.

Anne rubs her neck. “Well, maybe less if you weren’t such a toff and drank like the rest of us.”

That can’t be right. Was that it?

“Unlike you, I like to keep some of my dignity about me.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking talk to me about dignity -”

Jane is between them in a blink. “Anne, do the bloody dishes.” Anne groans, probably at the unintended pun, but is interrupted. “We have the chore wheel for a reason. We have standards.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know. Dishes now, fight later.”

Anne huffs, and stomps into the kitchen. Jane’s attention turns to Catalina, who is trying very hard to suppress the smug smile on her face.

“How many languages to you know, Catalina?” She already knows the answer to this question, but Catalina will happily tell her anyway.

“Five. Spanish, Latin, French, Greek, English.”

“Five languages, and you still don’t know how to use your words?”

Catalina simply stares at her.

“You would have been very upset if you knocked any of your paintings down, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but we couldn’t take it outside. You would have been upset if we crushed your plants.”

“Well, that simply reinforces my point. Violence is very rarely the answer when it comes to who you live with.”

“You’re threatening me with a lethal weapon right now.”

Oh, right, she forgot about them. Jane looks down at the stakes, flinches again, and throws them unceremoniously to one side. “Fine. We all need to work on discussing things, and remember we all have our part to play. Anne’s doing the dishes now -” There’s a clatter from the kitchen – “I’ve been taking out the rubbish; can you tell me your royal responsibility, or do I have to check?”

Catalina’s eyes are everywhere but on Jane. She brushes a bit of powder off of her sleeve, and mumbles “Dusting.”

~~~

“Look what I found.”

Parr looks up. It is a whole entire person Anna has come to show off, which usually isn’t something Catherine needs to see – it does not pay to get attached. This girl has her long hair tied up, dyed an almost neon pink at the ends, and is clad in one of Anna’s oversized fur coats. She seems to be faltering under Parr’s gaze, trying to make herself look as small and insignificant as possible.

“I see no plastic in the drawing room,” Catherine says to von Kleve, as a warning.

“What? No! No, no, no. Not that. Big smile, Katie.”

The girl’s lips curl into a rictus grin, revealing a set of fangs not unlike Parr’s own.

“Oh!” Immediately, Catherine’s attitude shifts, and speaks with a soft, comforting voice (she hopes), “Okay, hello. I’m Catherine Parr, of the Westmorland Parrs, and this is Anna von Jülich-Kleve-Berg of the Holy Roman Empire. Neither of us are going to hurt you. Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to a nearby chair. The girl walks over to it, unsteady on her feet, and sits down.

“It’s been a bad week,” she mumbles.

“Tell us about it.”

“Well, it started with a night I couldn’t remember, which always freaks me out, and then I was really sick, and then I’m pretty sure I died – no, I did die… I died…” She goes quiet once more, aghast at the revelation.

“Found her ripping some dude’s throat out behind a nightclub,” Anna explains, then shrugs. “It happens.”

The girl shuts her eyes tightly, as if she is trying to block out the memory. Parr takes her hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Katie, is it?”

“Or Kate. Or Kat, or Katherine – but, that’s you as well. I’m rambling.”

“That’s alright. The transition can be stressful. May I call you Kat?”

Kat nods.

“Good. Now, from what you’ve told us, it sounds like nobody explained to you how this works. What is it that you think is going on?”

“’M a vampire. Right?” Parr hums an affirmation, and Kat laughs, without humour. “And, because I’m a vampire, and I was going insane with how thirsty I was and because he wouldn’t stop talking and he kept touching me after I told him not to…” She looks to Anna. “That man. He was my boyfriend. I killed my boyfriend.”

It’s usually cold in the house, but it seems to get even colder after that statement.

While Catherine intimately knows the feeling of wanting to murder your former significant others (Thomas – Foul rake! Blackguard! She shall curse his name after death and beyond!), she is aware that this may not be the case for Kat. Most couples these days actually quite like each other – one need not rely on a husband to vote for them anymore, after all. She’s been looking out for someone like that, but she hasn’t found them yet. Maybe someday.

There have been so very many days…

Thankfully, Anna is there with a kind word, so she need not answer nor dwell on her failure to find love. It is just one word, however, and it is not spoken with great compassion.

“Condolences?”

Kat waves a hand, shakes her head. “The only good thing about dating Francis is – was – that he gave me a place to stay. Everything else… I don’t think anyone will be that upset he’s dead, put it that way.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It was so easy. Too easy.”

Well, it’s good to know that nothing of value was lost, at least.

“Subtlety and control are the results of practice,” Catherine tells the girl, “and that will come, in time. Until then, since the one who turned you is not around to help, I humbly request that you allow us to assist you.”

“We have a spare room. Um. Not that you have to take it, or anything, but the option’s there -”

Kat cuts Anna off. Nobody’s had the gall to do that for centuries.

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?! You want something from me, don’t you? Otherwise, I’d still be out there, dealing with my boyfriend’s corpse! Be honest with me, please. What is it you want me to do?!”

She is looking into both of their eyes, searching for an ulterior motive like she knows it’s there – Parr gets that, unfortunately, and she’s disgusted that something has happened to the poor girl to prompt such suspicion and mistrust.

Catherine does not raise her voice, speaks calmly and carefully, just like she was taught. “We are not doing this in the hopes of a favour, or any material gain. We – or, at least, I – am behaving in this way because I want to see you turn out well. Perhaps there is a vain hope of a new friendship out of this, but that is the loftiest of my wishes, and you should not feel obligated to fulfil it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in at least a decade,” says Anna.

“But you’re vampires. Why are you helping a competitor?”

“Why not? Just because we’re bloodsucking monsters doesn’t mean we can’t be nice about it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Okay. Okay. In that case… might I ‘humbly request’… a hug, please?”

~~~

“How do you feel about it?”

Catalina does not turn away from her painting; yet another Spanish vista. She has been told that the Inquisition is over, that she can return for a holiday, but there is no doubt in her mind that what is there now must be wildly different from what she remembers. The latter is what she puts to canvas, to show off what she knows, what mortal eyes can no longer see.

“You shall have to be more specific,” she says to Anne, her voice clipped.

“You know.” She refuses to give Anne the satisfaction of looking at her, but she can feel the fluttering eyelashes, the lazy grin, just from her cadence. “Us. What we have.”

“What on earth are you implying?”

“That thing we do. The one where I press all your buttons, and you beat the shit out of me. Great way to work out that tension, yeah? But then there’s Jane – Plain Insane Jane – putting stakes in our faces and telling us to end it.”

“Would you have listened to her if she hadn’t?”

“Nah.” No hesitation whatsoever. No hint of shame. “But it’s fun. Don’t you think so?”

…Frankly, Catalina does not know. She knows it is not a healthy way of relieving stress. She knows Jane is justified in her motivations to stop it, if not her methods (though both of them make it difficult for her to use a softer touch).

But, if she is truly honest with herself, she likes to feel powerful sometimes. Yes, she is powerful when compared to a regular human – but that was true when she was alive, too. Now, she is no longer in the line of succession, she is no longer a princess. She is ‘just’ a vampire, and that fact irks her more than it should.

But she doesn’t tell Anne any of that. She puts her brush down, and turns to the source of her self-reflection. She’s hanging in the air, as if she were watching Catalina from an invisible sofa.

“You’ve been out drinking, haven’t you?”

Their kind can, in fact, get drunk. It’s more of a roundabout process than it is for mortals – one must find someone that’s absolutely cup-shotten, take them somewhere quiet, and… share their blood alcohol content. Catalina knows this because Anne is a master of the process.

“Of course I have!” Anne replies, with a funny sort of smile. “That’s why you go out, why Jane goes out. To have a drink!”

Oh, she definitely has been. She’s wearing the silly spectacles again, the ones where you can’t see her eyes properly.

“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re out of your wits,” Catalina carefully enunciates.

“I always have my wits. Do you even listen to my jokes, princess?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And? You don’t talk when I’m sober, you won’t talk when I’m toxed – what is it that you need me to be for you to be honest?”

There is a knock at the door, and Jane’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Catalina? We have a guest.”

That’s interesting. They don’t often have guests – well, not ones that aren’t ‘invited for dinner’, and Jane likes to keep that private, if it’s her. It can’t be Parr or von Kleve; Jane would have said as much.

Perhaps it is someone important, she thinks, and immediately her mood sours.

“Who do you think it is?” Anne asks.

“I don’t know. All I ask is that you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.”

“And what if I do?”

“Then I take no responsibility for your actions.”

“She’s very new, apparently,” Jane tells them, and she is doing only a slightly better job than Anne at holding in her excitement. “She doesn’t remember who turned her. Cathy thinks it’s Thomas, but you know how she is.”

Yes, Catalina does. Thomas may be responsible for a lot of things, but if he showed his face in this part of town, he’d probably find himself dismembered by his very angry ex-wife.

They reach the top of the staircase. Below them, on the ground level, Cathy is speaking quietly to – good Lord! That woman’s hair is pink! How is it that vibrant a shade?!

Anne gasps in delight. “A baby! You’ve found a little baby, Cathy!”

“I’m not a baby. I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly. Two-digit age. Baby.”

“I apologise for her conduct,” Catalina sighs. “Someone had a bit too much to drink, and she had too much of them. I am Catalina Trastámara de Aragón.”

“And I’m Anne. Sometimes.”

The girl blinks. Probably thrown off by that introduction. “Oh-kay. Uh, well, I’m Kat Howard. Katherine, actually, but you see how that will cause problems. I’m moving in with Cathy and Anna, and Anna thought it might be good to introduce myself.”

There is an image of vampires being solitary creatures, living in ruined castles and moping about in their every waking hour. It’s not untrue, but Catalina hated it when she had a go. Eternity? With no-one around her? What torture!

No. Ever since she found Jane sobbing in front of her own grave, since Anne had her chance encounter with a Spanish princess, she’s resolved never to be alone again. She shall, of course, extend that invitation to this new girl.

It’s practically her duty.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Kat.”

~~~

Vampires own nightclubs.

That makes sense, right? They only operate at night, they attract a crowd, many people there aren’t expecting to remember what happened there, only that they had a good time and feel terrible in the morning, if they make it that far.

Well, Anna doesn’t own a nightclub. She owns a chain of 24-hour off-licences. But, she can hypnotise the bouncer into letting them in, so that’s alright.

The music thrums in place of Kat’s heart as she watches the mass of bodies swaying and jumping with absolutely no sense of rhythm. Coloured lights flash, the DJ plies his trade, glasses clink and sweat permeates the air.

Anna is watching only her.

“See anyone?”

Kat scans the crowds, a grim expression on her face. “No-one looks particularly appetising.”

“Well, of course they don’t. We’re not looking for the cream of the crop here, we’re looking for someone who deserves it.”

Kat leans her head on her hand. Anna told her she could come to her for anything – so, Kat had, when she started to feel hungry again, and so Anna planned this little night out.

“There are two choices,” she’d said. “Either you pick someone out yourself, or you go mad with hunger and some other poor sod ends up like your boyfriend.”

“You’re sure of that?” Kat questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I speak from experience – I’ve always regretted what happened to the Duke of Lorraine…”

Anna had refused to say anything more about that.

Kat has… mixed feelings about what happened with Dereham. Okay, she’s horrified that she murdered him, but she doesn’t feel bad that she wiped that arrogant look from his eyes for a few seconds (before he, you know, died). He didn’t care that she was sick, didn’t answer her texts when she told him her reflection had vanished, or that she was bleeding from her eyes – and as soon as he got back from his work trip, he dragged her to a nightclub to ‘show her off’ and pretended nothing was wrong…!

…Okay, she’s getting a bit heated. The man’s funeral was three days ago. No point in holding a grudge, now.

“What about that one?”

Kat follows Anna’s gaze. A man is swaggering over to the bar with a confidence that nothing about him implies he’s earned. She gets the feeling this man used to be handsome, or liked, and no-one has told him otherwise just yet.

“Dunno. Maybe.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Kat automatically bites her lip, before remembering that’s probably a bad idea now. She doesn’t want to be alone, exactly, but at the same time…

“Is it alright if you hang out slightly further away?” She asks. “If I need your help, I’ll laugh really loudly.”

Anna smiles in acknowledgement, nods, and wanders off. Kat might be wrong, but she seems almost gleeful.

Thankfully (or not), the once-handsome man notices her staring, and saunters over. Kat’s skin crawls.

“Hey.”

Kat gives a small, brief smile in return.

“You here alone?”

She risks a quick glance over to Anna – she still has an eye on her. Kat isn’t alone. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out, you know?”

“I do.” He smirks, points to himself. “Henry. You know Tudor Real Estate?” She does, and the man grins at the recognition she must be showing. “I’m the co-owner.”

Kat doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this guy has only a passing resemblance to the man on the ‘for sale’ signs.

“Must be an important job,” she tries.

“Very. My brother relies on me for a lot.” Oh, okay, he’s the brother. Wait, the brother she’d read articles about? The one who got acquitted last year? “Sometimes I just need to blow off some steam, you know? Have some fun. Speaking of, can I buy you a drink or two?”

Wow. That look in his eyes. He clearly hasn’t changed as much as the judge thought he had.

“I don’t drink… alcohol.”

He scoffs. “Listen. You heard how important I am, right? Nothing will happen to you without my say-so. We can have fun if you just let me help you.”

This man is made of red flags, isn’t he? A blind woman could see the warning signs. He’s a creep with overly-inflated self-esteem, seems to have spent his whole life getting everything he’s ever wanted…

And that means he’s perfect.

“I guess you’re right,” she says, quietly. She doesn’t have to fear his kind any more. “I am here for a good time. If you’re offering…”

Henry grins. “Anything you want, babe! Name it, and it’s yours!”

“Anything?” Money and connections won’t protect you from me.

“Anything at all, princess.”

“Hmm…” Kat makes a show of looking him up and down. Yes, this is the one. “Maybe we can take this somewhere private?”

Henry is clearly thrilled at the prospect. He grabs her hand, roughly (though Kat is sure she could break his arm if the need arose), and leans in close.

“I know just the place.”

He leads her away, to a location where there are no witnesses, no-one to save him. From across the club, Anna gives her a thumbs up.

Kat returns the gesture.

She comes in the front door with her phone in her hand. Henry has a Wikipedia page. Not very long, pretty much goes on about his brief stint in custody and that he’s Arthur Tudor’s brother.

Or, was. They might have to change the tense, soon.

Cath is on the sofa, chatting quietly with… Kat wants to say… Jane…? Yeah, Jane sounds right. She’s friendly enough, but always seems like she’s on her second-last nerve.

“How did it go?” Cath asks.

Anna grins. She’s been like this all night, and Kat feels conflicted about all the praise she’s received.“Oh, fantastic! Kat was a natural; that idiot fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Turns out I have a vendetta against people who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Kat adds.

Parr’s smile grows sharp, but her eyes still sparkle. “Well, there won’t be any shortage of those. Come, sit with us.”

So, Kat does. The things they speak of are so normal, Kat is initially confused. Jane’s gardening is a topic of discussion, as is Cath’s ever-expanding collection of stuff she finds interesting. When Jane asks about Kat’s “little slate-thing”, they both listen with rapt attention at her explanation of modern technology.

Kat had forgotten what it’s like to have people listen. It’s a shame she had to die to experience it.

~~~

“Yes, I’ve received a notice recently about outstanding bills owed – no, no, don’t shut off the – listen to me. The account has been paid in full. Enter that into the system. Okay, great. Thanks for that – no, no, everyone makes mistakes. Alright, bye.”

Anne hangs up. Great, power bills are sorted.

Contrary to popular opinion, she actually does do her share of work around the house. Yeah, the dishes are her least favourite task. Vampires shouldn’t have to do the dishes. But, that doesn’t stop her from helping in other ways.

She’s just about to start dialling the telephone company, when there is a knock at the door. Few are brave enough to do that at this place. As she stalks over, she wonders if it might a debt collector – if it is, that means she can have a snack, too.

The heavy oaken door swings open with an agonising creak, and the eyes of the figure on the other side glow in the evening gloom.

Oh, it’s that pink-haired girl. Katie, maybe? Anne can’t actually remember her name, and at this point she’s too afraid to ask.

“Hi.” The girl waves slightly. “Can I come in?”

Do you really want to? Anne thinks, but she says, “Uh, sure.”

With a sigh of relief, Kiara steps over the threshold.

“Apparently I called you a baby last time you were here,” Anne says. “Sorry about that. That’s not fair to you, and you don’t scare the shit out of me like an actual vampire infant would. But, I’m guessing you’re not here for an apology.”

Kitty smiles awkwardly. “Uh, no. I’m here to try and fix your computer. Um, the little television-box-thing you never use?”

“Oh! That! Yeah, I never knew how to get that thing working.”

“Yeah, no promises,” Kelly says, “but Jane thought it might help you… connect.”

That really gets Anne’s attention. She’s not surprised it was Jane who told her, because of the way Kim described the computer, but that part about connecting.

Anne wants honesty, for once. If Kat (that sounds right) is offering, she will take it.

To Anne’s surprise (and shame), Kat is able to get la machine infernale up and running in just a few minutes. She explains the mouse, the monitor, and the programs built into the operating system. The computer is not to get wet, nor is it to be fed. Do not sacrifice anything to it in an attempt to make it work properly.

Why Kat felt the need to include that instruction is a mystery, but it was probably necessary.

“Now, I had this whole speech with my step-grandma – back when I talked with my family – and I’ll give the same to you. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet. A lot of it’s lies, or personal opinion. On that note, not everyone you talk to is who they say they are. Don’t do things like send money or give out personal details if someone asks, and don’t meet with someone without people around.”

“Okay, I’m absolutely going to do that last one – but for the rest of them? Sure!”

Kat genuinely smiles. Wow, when was the last time Anne did that, and didn’t eat the person afterwards? Must have been ages, because it feels like she’s come across an oasis after months in a desert.

“So,” she goes on, “what exactly is the internet? I know I pay the bill for it -” ‘pay’ is a strong word - “but I don’t actually know what it entails.”

“Okay, well, you know… books?”

“Yes.”

“You know the television?”

“Yeeesss.”

“You know those coffee shops where people yelled at each other about philosophy, in the eighteenth century?”

“Yep, yep, yep.” Even though she was never invited, the sexist pricks.

“The internet is all of those things together,” Kat explains, “but worse.”

Anne gasps. “I love it already.”

The room is dark. No lights, curtains shut. The only source of light is the faint white glow of the monitor.

The internet is, as Kat had warned, a shitshow. Anne thinks it’s just the best thing. University professors and the lowest common denominator share the same spaces, and send vile, scathing messages to one another over fictional characters. Maybe she should do some research, just so she can play along. It’d be just like her days at court, getting one person at another’s throat, playing them off each other… ah, she misses that, if nothing else. It’s just not the same, now.

Oh, but then there are the videos. Little mortal Anne would never have thought it possible. What an idea! What awful and wonderful things humans create when they’re not being killed!

Anne’s exploration is interrupted when the light from the hallway fills the room.

“Ah. So you haven’t left.”

Catalina? Come to check on her? Anne turns – yes, it is her, likely wondering why her evening hasn’t been ruined yet. Or, maybe not. Anne has a terrible habit of putting words in other people’s mouths.

“You haven’t been downstairs this evening,” Her housemate continues. “Jane was worried about you.”

Anne doubts that’s true. Not that Jane doesn’t worry, she worries about almost everything (who cares if her teeth show when she smiles?), but she would be thrilled to know Anne is being quiet.

“Just looking at things,” Anne mumbles.

“Hm. Ominous. What ‘things’?”

Well, the best way to explain would be to show, right?

Anne plays the video. Normal night sky, a deep navy. Then, violet, then orange, and the fiery sun rises over the horizon, accented by the crimson heavens.

There’s a thump from behind her. Catalina has flattened herself against the opposite wall, eyes wide, fangs bared.

“I will not die so easily, Boleyn!” she snarls. “I’ve survived assassination attempts before, and I’ll do it again!”

“I’m not trying to kill you, girl! It’s a video! Do you almost die every time you put the sun in one of your paintings? Because that would be a much bigger problem than me showing you this.”

She presses the button to make the video play once more, and makes a show of standing in front of the screen, conspicuously not combusting.

Catalina stares at her. Then, at the monitor. She approaches, slowly.

“Can you make it go again?”

Anne does. The sun is reflected in Catalina’s eyes for the first time in over five hundred years.

“…I miss it, sometimes.”

Oh God, it’s happening, Anne thinks. Out loud, she says, “Miss what?”

“The sunrise.” From the sound of her voice, calm and quiet, Anne gets the impression Catalina’s not really here. “My home. My family. It doesn’t matter how far away I am, in years or in miles. They’re gone, and the name Trastámara means nothing.”

Oh, that’s it. Of course it is.

Anne did not what it was like to be a princess in the early 1400s, partially because she wasn’t born yet. She knows from her own experiences with Whatever the Fuck the Sun King Was Playing At that the nobility was constantly having to be perfect at all times; not even a twitch of emotion could play upon your face, even as you drain all your resources to support the near-impossible standards of fashion, or it could easily be all for naught.

She’s just been thinking, maybe, something like that might be why Catalina has the sort of aversion to talking about her emotions that would normally be reserved for holy symbols.

“Catalina. You’re not a princess anymore.”

Catalina sneers, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Yes, you have taunted me about that many times before.”

“Not a taunt.” Sometimes. “A reminder you no longer have to try and be perfect. I’m not gonna tell any peers of the realm if you feel sad sometimes.”

“So you feel the need to drive me to madness in the hopes I accept your view?”

Okay, so maybe Anne’s been a little coarse. In fairness, she tried passive-aggressive behaviour and it didn’t work. There’s a reason she goes after Catalina, and it’s not just because it’s easy.

Anne points to herself. “Unstoppable force.” To Catalina. “Immovable object. You move, I stop.”

“…Right. Okay.” A pause. “I know, logically, that you are right – about that particular thing. But, it makes me feel like I’m ignoring part of myself.”

“Just have the good without the bad. If the King of Spain has anything to say about it, kill him and rule the country as their immortal god-queen.”

“I would never be so rash,” Catalina huffs. “I’ll try. Just… don’t mock me for it. If I’m keeping at least one good thing about my life, it will be threatening anyone who insults me with imprisonment.”

“Yessssss…”

Both Anne and Catalina jump at the voice from outside the room. Anne acts first – she opens the door a crack, and sees Jane’s eye on the other side.

“You’ve been at it for two hundred years,” Jane says. “Two. Hundred. Years. I don’t care if you don’t get along straight away, let me have this.”

And, fearing her ire, they do.

~~~

Anna’s on the roof again.

There are two main reasons for this. One, her room is in the attic and it’s the easiest way out of the house. Two, it’s a good place to sit, look up at the stars (at least the ones you can still see, anyway) and think about things.

Kat is on her right, arms around her knees, looking up at the moon. Anna does not think she’s paying much attention to it, however.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Kat doesn’t answer straight away. “Just how things are better.”

“…They are?”

“I’m living… uh, residing in a house with people I actually like. This is the first time that’s happened since I was about eight, I think.”

Wow. Anna hadn’t had a terribly good time when she was alive – no rights, no fun allowed, go marry some dude you’ve never even met, and no you can’t have fun then either – but Kat’s life might beat out Cathy’s hopeless search for love, in terms of tragedy.

“I cannot truly speak for you, but I have found this…” Anna waves her hands, trying to find the right way to put it, “whole thing to be very affirming. There is no-one to hold you down. No-one to stop you from doing what you like. Well, except priests, but they can be ignored, mostly.”

“You don’t brood about it too much?”

“Why would I? It’s the only reason I’ve been able to see the things I’ve seen. To be here, now, talking to you.” All because she told the wrong (or right) person about how bored she was. Of course she would accept the offer to have fun, even if the whole process wasn’t. “Do you?”

Kat stops to think again, so that’s a ‘yes’. “I’m still getting used to it. But, I don’t mind it. I’m not scared of the things I used to be afraid of. That’s good, right?”

“Sounds good to me. But, if you falter, that’s okay, too. We have supported Cathy, who was the youngest before you, we can do the same here – so long as you support us in turn.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got that thing about finding the one.” How does Kat manage to fit so much bitterness in only two words? “Don’t get it. She’s got people who love her already. You, and those three around the corner. She doesn’t need them.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it, actually.” Anna’s argument against serious dating has been that three of the people Parr’s courted have tried to murder her, and her ex-husband technically succeeded. It hasn’t worked, but maybe a more positive viewpoint might win out against two centuries of stubbornness.

“Anna von Kleve.”

von Kleve looks down. Ah, speak of the devil. She’s on the balcony below them.

“Cathy! Kat has had some good thoughts about love!”

“Oh? How wonderful.”

She doesn’t seem like she thinks it is, though. She almost looks angry, with the hard eyes and pursed lips and the red-brown mottled book in her hand -

Oh no.

“I think, Anna,” Cathy intones, her voice sharper than any stake, “that we should talk about personal responsibility first.”

#the cradle will write #six the musical #not the historical figures #but that won't stop me making references to them

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abloomntime · 3 years

Text

A Bloom In Time Ch28 Welcome To Mafia Town P2

(I headcannon the place the Twilight Bell takes you is the Horizon Moonjumper lives in.)

Poppy had stared in front of her when the man yelled and slammed the door behind him. Stopping and staring for a while confused, but she just shrugged it off and started off again. She hadn't taken more than three and a half steps when the door flew back open with an even louder BANG and with more force enough to vibrate the glass of the door and windows of the building and the three stopped and stared at the next wild sight that graced their vision. One- Two-......NO! Around ten men in blue suits marched right out of the door and like some military, marched in a rythume and rows of two fives. Before all turning on their heels and effectively blocking their way to the other side of the docks with all of them staring, but they weren't the only ones. The men working on the docks and one or two that were just casually walking past them just stopped and stared at what was going on. Hattie immediately scowled and brandished her trusty umbrella out of nowhere ready to battle, and Bow shrunk back behind Poppy's legs as a man different from all the others stepped out of the doorway. Instantly Poppy got the feeling this guy had a bad attitude by the way he walked around like he owned the place and the fact. This man had a giant black mustache and goatee, and was a good foot shorter in height compared to every other man there as he walked in front of them. He wore an apron like the rest of the men around here, but with a giant red coat with gold trim, and like Cookie a chef's hat that wobbled with his every step. He marched until he was right in the middle of the dock blocking their way and stood in a stance with his hands on his hips.

"So. We meet again Kid With The Hat!," he shouted in a deep male voice also different compared to the other men she's heard, "And this time you brought along more people from your strange world! You dare show your face here again after what you and your friend did!?"

"Who's that?," Poppy asked glancing down at Hattie's stiff form.

"That's the Mafia Boss," Hattie warned pointing her umbrella right at him, "He used to be stuck in a jar, but after Snatcher made a deal with him for those death wish contracts, he's gone back to being a big bully!!"

".....I'm sorry. He used to be a what and turned back into what after Snatcher did what??"

She didn't get an answer from anyone as the man marched right up to the small group of girls and Poppy watched with a scowl as he made a big scene of 'manly' stomping his footsteps all the way towards them until he was just shy of a foot or two. Hattie still in that 'make one more move and I'll end you' stance but not doing anything as he just stood there in front of them and Bow now clutching her with like an iron trap and pressing her forehead to Poppy's leg. The man wasn't even that tall. Not including his hat, his head came to just barely above her shoulders as he continued to stand in that stance-.....And Poppy couldn't help but get a strange feeling of deja vu at seeing this man. He looked somewhat familiar. A good few tense moments went pass as nether spoke until he made the first sentence.

"Red haired lady! Are you the one who stopped my men from doing jobs?," he asked staring directly at Poppy.

"If by jobs ya mean I asked them nicely to stop harrassin' a poor defenseless ol' man and then defended mahself when one your goons started the fight, then I sure did buckaroo!," she snapped back with that country sass that once made Snatcher's living heart skip a beat. "And what if I did or not? Sounds ta me they'd be better off not doing any jobs if all they do is harass poor people all day for money like they got nothin' else to do!!"

"HA!! Is orders from me!!", he challenged back.

"Well. Then I guess you're one insecure power hungry spoiled rich boy if I had ever seen one!! Did yer mama not teach ya any manners!?"

The entirety of the mafia men watching either gasped or looked on with shocked faces that someone let alone a woman, would dare talk to Mafia Boss that way, and the boss didn't seem to take a liken to that either.

"How rude! You must be very lost lady with the red hair. You're in the heart of our town! STANDING BEFORE THE MOST POWERFUL MAN YOU WILL EVER WITNESS!!" He smirked when some of men cheered their boss on proudly. "In Mafia Town Mafia Boss makes the rules!"

"Well then." Poppy gave a look that one would give if someone had something dum like fish were secretly birds that flew underwater. "I guess ya'll can consider me a rule breaker because anyone wo gives those orders aren't a man or very powerful if ya'll need to hassle money from an old man to keep stable income!!"

The silence was astounding as the Mafia Boss just stared at her flabbergasted and paused. Poppy still staring at him so done with this entire man baby's show off attitude, if he wanted to cause trouble then she could and WOULD dish some of it back into his face well cooked with a side of sass. He still stared at her for what seemed like an eternity before he chuckled and that smile returned to his face.

"You know. I have not seen a woman like you since we left original mafia island with Women Mafia. You dare speak back to Mafia? You have guts, Red Hair Lady.....Mafia like that in a woman.~"

".....What?," Poppy asked. It was the only thing she could force out at that moment.

"What?," Hattie asked just as confused.

"WWWHHHHHAAAAATTTTT?!," SNATCHER roared from the shadow he was stuck in. Yellow eyes narrowing and mouth suddenly becoming more jagged with fangs. "OOP!!" Poppy had taken a step back in shock and stepped in the middle of his face.

If anyone had heard Snatcher's loud yell, and most likely did, they ignored it in favor of watching the awkward interaction between the two adults. And the Mafia Boss leaned closer to her. "Mafia likes strong fight in women. Pretty Red Haired Lady has much fighting spirit!"

Poppy was stunned as she stood there staring at this smaller man with a jaw slightly dropped. Was this guy SERIOUSLY FLIRTING with HER?! After she smashed one of his guys to the ground and slapped another's hand?? Was he SERIOUSLY doing this?? Apparently so because Bow had lift her head enough to look at what was going on and her and Hattie exchanged a look as if they were telepathically asking each other what the world was happening. But no one could've seen what was coming from the furious ghost who moved his face and was GLARING dangerously at the Mafia Boss. He hadn't done anything yet finding amusement in Poppy throwing back her own stubborness into this situation with always made things amusing enough for him wanting to watch, especially since he missed her last dish out of sass back. But now he had quickly turned from amused to FURIOUS with that famous temper he was known for. But it turned from valcanic to NUCLEAR when the mafia boss grabbed Poppy's free hand even making her flinch and blink at the sudden action looking at him with a scowl.....Then realization flashed in her eyes.

"Wait a gosh darn moment.....I know you! I saw your paintin' in the art gallery." And she saw his face spray painted all over everything around town too! That's where she had seen him before!

"So you are familiar with Mafia's greatness? Mafia is greatly flattered.~" Pulling her hand up to his face with that smile like he was about to kiss her hand-

An animalistic like snarl pierced the air and something dark blocked out the son over the three girls and some presence hovered over them that made the Mafia Boss's and Mafia Mens' eyes widen as pure terror poured over them in waves like the ocean as the very large ghosts hunched over the ladies, his face a twisted one of pure rage as he stared the tiny man dead in the eyes. Poppy just stared at the ghost jumping when his enlarged claws gripped her shoulders as he pointed those fangs at the man. ....Her arm slipping away from the man.

"YOU HAVE A DEATH WISH BUDDY!!," he absolutely ROARED out the loudest Poppy had heard him thus far, "YOU WANT TO DIE A SECOND TIME!? OR MAYBE I SHOULD EAT YOUR SOUL!!!" The Mafia Boss yelled and stumbled back away from the shadow monster threatening to eat him and yells came from all sides from the men who either ran down the paths leading from the docks or back into the open resturaunt to escape the shadow monster that had suddenly just appeared. Only annoying Snatcher more that these pathetic fools would even try to act like they had a chance with her. "That's it! WE'RE LEAVING!! NOW!!"

The teleporting worked as quickly as any other time he did it. Purple energy completely took over the world around them like the many times he's done this before and swallowed them all whole. Poppy closed her eyes when purple invaded her vision and the air suddenly shifted again much more aggressive and quickly than any other time she's experienced this kind of thing. A second later she landed onto her side and shoulder with a thud and 'OOF!!' onto soft carpet and a moment after the purple dissappeared leaving the familiar sight of a little alien's space ship and the windows of space. Next to her was the basket tossed over on it's side and half it's contents spilt out onto the floor, mostly the apples that just bounced out of the sack and rolled out onto the carpeted floors. She groaned and forced herself onto her back and sat up, looking up to the figure of the deeply scowling ghost staring back out the window and down at the planet. Hattie was sat on the floor next to him pushing the hat off her face and Bow sitting up next to her.

"Ow. Quick exit much?," she asked Snatcher who looked at her.

"Hey! I just saved your sorry behind from unwanted advances from a total fool! Your welcome!!"

She smiled. "Yeah. To be honest I was 'bout ta deck that mustached peckneck myself. Glad I didn't have to waste any energy of that." She slowly stood up and brushed herself off smiling. "Great timin' purple onion."

"Hmph.....Thanks." He crossed his arms and began to calm down a bit. The raised fluff and extended claws slowly smoothing back to their normal look. Watching silently as she turned and started to pick up the basket and all the things that tumbled out of it. "What are you planning on doing with those anyways?"

"Uh. Put them in that fancy fridge of yours," she said not looking up from her lil clean up. Making sure not of the food got damaged. It'd be a waste if she spent so much on them only for them to be ruined. Thankfully on closer inspection it didn't seem anything was wrong. Fish still wrapped up. Bacon still in package. And the milk bottle wasn't cracked or spilt. Thank goodness. Standing back up with the basket of food she turned to the kitchen.

"Now do you see what I meant about their being danger at every corner around here?," Snatcher asked following behind her as she walked. "It's dangerous and trouble!"

"I appreciate the heads up, but you don't have to watch me over." He opened his mouth- "I SAID I appreciate it." She stopped and looked over her shoulder at him. "And what happened just proved your point a lil bit, but I am NOT a kid or need a babysitter. Sooner or later I gotta make a livin' on mah own after I pay off mah debts while you're helping me. And I mean it when I say thank ya but don't feel like you have to take time out of your day worryin' about me. I can take care of myself."

"And what if you need help-"

"You'll be the very first one I'll trust to help me." With one last smile she turned back and walked the rest of the way up the ramp and into the kitchen to put away the fruits of their adventure. Leaving Snatcher there floating and staring after her, Hattie suddenly running past him into the kitchen to presumably help and still sat there. "What do you have in yer hat?," Poppy said from beyond the kitchen doors. "Coconuts? Where'd ya get those?"

"On the palm trees on the beach," Hattie proudly stated.

He didn't even notice Bow standing next to him until he spoke. "Are you ok?"

".....Yeah. I'll be fine." He turned and started floating off towards the windows in the control room. "Tell Poppy I'm heading back. And if she decides to go somewhere let me KNOW." He floated towards the window as she watched and he disappeared into a cloud of purple.

***********************************************************************************************

The minions walking around doing their normal routes barely paid attention to their own boss who was currently sitting back in his giant arm chair reading the book in his hands. How Black Holes Are Made And How To Avoid Them. The same one he started in the attic. Once he started reading a book he always made sure to finish it, no matter what opinion he had on it. To him why start it if you won't finish it. 'Sides, the kid wouldn't miss a book she never read from her dark attic. A deep frown On his face and irritation seeping from him as he read a 3 step process about how stars specifically were affected by the darkness of a black hole. ....When footsteps approuched he didn't look up and just kept the scowl on his face.

"So you finally showed up huh?," he asked in an annoyed tone.

"Oh relax. You knew I was coming."

He finally looked up to the smiling pink witch in front of her. "Yes. ....BUT I DIDN'T THINK YOU'D MENTION MOONBOY RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER!!!" He yelled out in anger. "WHAT THE PECK DID YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING?! I THOUGHT WE AGREED YOU WOULDN'T TELL HER OR THAT CORPSE ANYTHING!!!"

"And I didn't tell ANYONE anything," she argued back waving a hand. "All I did was mention his name ONCE. It's not like I went 'Here! Let me spill all the secrets of these ghosts to you and tell Moonjumper all about you'. She probably already forgotten what I said by now." Hazelle walked over until she was right in front of him and sat down on the footstool he always kept in front of his armchair, and looked up to meet his eyes with a blank look. "And I thought YOU were going to talk to HER about him."

"What!? I did talk to her!"

She blinked in surprise. ".....Wait. You did what now? Really?"

"YES!!"

"........" Her eyes narrowed and her arms crossed as she gazed at him suspiciously. "Ok. What exactly did you tell her?"

Snatcher paused for a moment that scowl paving away for a slightly worried look. "I mean-.....Nothing she didn't ask me-"

"Uh huh. And WHAT did she ask you?," she pressed further with that face backing him into a corner he couldn't escape.

"The usual questions you asked when we first met along with everyone ELSE I let live. Where do ghosts come from? How did I die? Things like that."

"And how did you answer?" He remained silent staring down at her and that deadpanned stare turned into a glare and he flinched when Hazelle pointed at her. "You tell me what you told her, Snatcher! I swear! I know this is a sensitive topic but it concerns someone else BESIDES you too and Im not talking about Moonjumper!!"

"Alright! Alright!!".....He sighed and made an almost guilty look that people made when they REALLY did not want to do something. "She asked about how ghosts are formed and I said I don't know which isn't a lie. I don't have any idea. She also asked me if I really ate souls-" Hazelle snorted and he frowned again. "Hey! I couldn't eat other ghosts! That's ridiculous!"

"Is that all she asked?," Hazelle questioned a slight amused from that last sentence.

"I- Uh- W-Well- I mean I don't know if I would consider those actually questions persay- OW!!" His tail pulled itself away when she lightly kicked his tail and gave him a death glare that gave him the impression to just get on with it. "Alright. FINE!! She asked me why I helped her, and how I died.....A-And...If her old prince friend was a ghost too."

Silence rang out as Hazelle blinked eyes going wide and Snatcher looking back down to the book in his lap even though he wasn't reading it anymore. The two old friends still stayed like that for the lonest time and sat there in silence so deathening you could've heard Vanessa yelling 'PRINCE!!' from the few miles away she was in that frozen prison.

"What did you say?"

"What?" he looked up with a dumbfounded look blinking.

Hazelle have him a serious look again but it was a lil softer. "I said WHAT did you tell her? You must've told her something, otherwise you wouldn't have been with her at the meathead's market if it could even be called that. Did you tell her the truth? I sure pecking hope so."

"OF COURSE I DID!! I WOULDN'T LIE TO HER!!"

"Even when you tricked her into that contract?"

"HEY! That was for safety purposes! So it was for a good cause. She's still a free spirit."

"WHAT DID YOU TELL HER YOU PECKING NOODLE!?"

"ALRIGHT!! I TOLD I FROZE TO DEATH BUT NOTHING BEYOND THAT EVEN IF I DID EXPLAIN THE CAUSE OF IT!! AND I TOLD HER MOST GHOSTS DIDN'T HAVE MEMORIES!! SO NO!! I DIDN'T LIE TO HER!! HAPPY?!" He glared at her like he would anything that irritated him.

Hazelle still stared at him with that scowl quietly eyeing him up and down deducting if he was telling the truth or not. "....So....She knows how you died?

"Yes," he growled out.

"So, she knows who you were?"

His face went back to that almost guilty look. "Uh-.....Well not exactly-"

"Not exactly!?" Hazelle face palmed with a groan. "I thought you said you told her how you died."

"I did!"

"And she knows about you freezing to death in the basement?"

"Yes!"

"Then HOW does she NOT know you if you told her?," she demanded peeking at him. "You're confusing me worse than a rubix cude!"

"She asked how the prince friend died and I told her just like her. Locked in a room until the cold kicked in. I just told her I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, which also wasn't a lie, so I never lied."

"........Wait a minute." She looked up fully to him. "Let me get this straight. You told her how YOU died and how her friend which is ALSO YOU died, but told her in a way that didn't let her know YOU ARE YOU?!....That's not helping your situation at all!!!"

"HEY!! What was I supposed to do?! It was sprung on me out of no where!, "he argued back.

"I don't know! Tell her the truth!?"

"I did!"

"SNATCHER!!" Hazelle suddenly stood up and jabbed a poke into his chest with an all too serious look. "Not telling her the WHOLE truth is just as bad! She's gonna think you're two different people!....Well technically you are- But the point is, she's going to see you and her friend as two different individuals which is just gonna bite you in the butt later!"

"Give me some time! I'm still trying to get used to this. If you haven't forgotten there's two people who'll be affected by this."

"........" She sighed and shook her head, backing off and crossing her arms. "Well....You did talk and that's something in of itself considering how pecking stubborn your butt can be. That's a step in the right direction at least." Hazelle gave him a pleading look. "Look. I'm proud you're feeling more open around her, but PLEASE take my advice and don't burn your bridges when the fire can be avoided."

".....Fine. Just....Not now."

Knowing it was no use to press it any further for now. Arguing forever with this stubborn spirit was like trying to drain a dried out an already empty bathtub. Impossible. "Fine. But was there anything else she told you?"

He rolled his eyes with a small smile. "Oh yes. She got into some kind of trouble with that old windbag of a bird and broke something. Now she has to pay it off by being in another fool's play."

".......Seriously!?," she smiled now raising an eyebrow. "I have to stick around you lot more often. I'm missing all the juicy details.~.....In fact that doesn't sound like a bad idea."

"Don't push your luck." Those yellow eyes narrowed.

''I won't. In fact I've been quite helpful with this whole 'My Lover Came Back From The Dead' cliche skit. I haven't said a word."

"And make sure you KEEP it that way!" Snatcher growled and his grip on his book became tighter. If that corpse found out who KNOWS what he'll try to pull. Especially if he spilt all the details to her before he could explain. He didn't see any good outcome from that!

Hazelle waved a hand. "I promise. Witch's honor. Timmy can vouch for that."

He suddenly blanked out.....Timmy...That BOY!! Moonjumper's little oh so polite princey!! He narrowed his eyes again. "And tell that kid not to flap his gums either!"

"Who? Timmy? What would he even talk about? He barely even knows her and only met her for like, two minutes. There's absolutely nothing to worry about with him," She assured him.

Snatcher still didn't look convinced as he looked out the opening of his home out into the woods. "Where is he anyways?"

"We finished our magic training for today so I dropped him off home." snatcher huffed and Hazelle rolled her eyes. "Look. Even if he did say something about her, how much could he say? Your girls have a babysitter? You got a new helper? A woman beat up the mafia? Nothing that really translates to 'Hey! This is the girl you two used to be in love with'."

He hummed. Well....She had a point. When you put it that way, there really was nothing too much to worry about if Moonboy found out about him having a 'helper' or 'babysitter'. He'd never in another thousand years guess it was Poppy of all people. As long as he kept away everything would be fine.

"Besides. What's the worse that could happen?"

***********************************************************************************************

The beautiful silence of the horizon was a rather lonely one when he was all here by himself...Well that's not true. He wasn't always by himself. There was a few of Snatcher's minions forever lost he swiped back in the day, and a few ancient Alpine Goat spirits that occupied the place way longer than he's ever been there, but none of them spoke much, and he always enjoyed the polite company of strangers. Unfortunately those couldn't be forced as he found out rather quickly, but after a long time he didn't need to force those when he finally found a small little family of his own. Timmy was such a polite and good boy. The child he's always wanted if it weren't for HER!! He even had his hair color he used to have when he was a living being like his darling son. Of course he would provide him with all he needs forever as no one else would, and besides his wonderful boy, their was those delightful girls and Snatcher. Snatcher was.....Ok. Being an inferior half of him but nevermind that. He would never know what those dears saw in him. And Hazelle was a nice lady, wonderful. Always knew her way around magic and was a good teacher for his timmy.

The fingers worked like magic knitting the red threads he could summon at will together in the beginnings of a scarf for..someone. He didn't know yet, it was just a nice hobby to pass the time in this vast plain of being while waiting for Timmy to return from his daily lessons with Hazelle. Especially since as of lately he wasn't really feeling up to going out much since that little incident with the tramatizing time piece and Snatcher's oh so splendid idea. He was SO glad to have been transported back here straight away after that, he couldn't BARE to even face Vanessa at any given moment or time. Let's just say he was more than happy to stay here far, FAR away from that crazy peckneck and listen to silence for a good long while. He was more than happy to spend his time knitting away and taking his time to go back out there again.

Click, click, click.

The spirit's red eyes and knitting fingers focused on the small scarf on hand, the only sounds being the clicking of those knitting needles and the chains permanantly clamped on his wrists....And the approuching small footsteps coming right for him. A smile gracing his pale features and those red eyes looking up without stopping those knitting hand.

"Welcome home, Timmy. Were you good while you were out?," the ghost asked the child as he casually walked up to him.

Timmy smiled and nodded. "You betcha! Had a real laugh today actually!"

A clawed, chained hand patted his head before the spirit turned back to his peaceful work. "Good boy. I'm so happy."

"Ran into Bow and Hattie too." He said watching as his ghostly guardian worked along. "They had this new lady with 'em. Never seen her before tho. She threw a Mafia right over her shoulder and dunked him like a ball in a basket, she did when he tried to punch her!"

"Oh really? Hm. That doesn't sound very lady like. " But he still smiled hearing one of those meatheaded brutes had gotten a taste of his own medicine. "But trying to punch a lady isn't very good either, so I guess he had it coming."

"Yeah! It was a real good show! Hattie said something about her being their new nanny or somethin'."

Click, click,click.

"...Oh?" He paused and looked down at him now catching his attention. Snatcher..got those little darlings a nanny? Snatcher? Well, well, well. It seems that shadow finally had a smart idea for once in his existance. Those girls could use someone to look after them when he was off calling everyone fools or doing some other ridiculous thing like that. The edgylord noodle. "Well it seems he had one good brainstorm out of all that hair."

"Mmhm." Timmy was still curiously watching as he went back to summoning threads outta no where and knitting them into something. The next thing he said was just a casual comment thrown into the conversation. "She seemed like a nice person. I think she said her name was Poppy. Like those pretty flowers growing in the Alpine Alps, yeah."

Click, click, cli-

Any limited sounds coming from the moving of the knitting needles and chains came to sudden abrupt halt at that one word. Timmy noticing the sudden stopping of motion from the ghost blinked and looked up at his face. His pale face was frozen staring blankly at his unmoving hands and those red eyes wide. After staring a few seconds into the abyss, Timmy was just about to ask him if he was ok, but the ghost slowly looked at him stopping that.

"Pardon me for asking, but.....Who did you say she was?"

"Uh...Poppy..I think." Timmy reached up to scratch his head. "I'm not sure. Wasn't paying much attention to be honest."

"Tell me, what did she look like?," he said rather quickly giving the boy his fool attention.

"Um..." Timmy crunched his face in thought. "..I don't remember much. Didn't spend much time there, but she was pale with long, red hair."

Moonjumper just stared at him wide eyed for a long silent moment. No......NO! It couldn't be!....Could it? There wasn't any possible way she-...Not after all these years. No. No it must've been some kind of weird strange coincidence. Some other long red haired pale lady sharing the same name. It was quite possible. There was a lot of Philips on his father's side of the family. There was a great chance of a woman with her characteristics having the same name. It couldn't be even remotely slightly possible......Could it?

"Hey. Are you alright there?"

He blinked. "Uh...Y-Yes. Thank you.....But...Please, tell me all you can about this lady?"

#the snatcher #snatcher x florist #Snatcher x the florist #A hat in time snatcher x florist #a hat in time snatcher x the florist #The Florist #florist #florist x snatcher #a hat in time florist #A hat in time the florist #A hat in time the florist x snatcher #A hat in time florist x snatcher #a hat in time snatcher #flowercrown #a bloom in time

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ccoccae · 4 years

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I AM THE BEST ; l.yy ( ii )

⇘ previous part

That’s it.

You’re absolutely losing your mind.

Liu Yangyang highkey vanished.

It was as if his abrupt leave last Wednesday was his farewell to you ㅡ not that he said goodbye though, tsk.

No but seriously.

You haven’t seen him for a wholeass week. He wasn’t in the hallway running around with that annoying classmate of him named Donghyuck - going around and literally giving their juniors and seniors the unending desire to strangle them then and there, he wasn’t sitting with his group of friends during lunch and you didn’t see him in Music Class when your class came in for a survey.

The two blank documents that you shared with him (which he hasn’t opened by the way) is begging to be typed on to serve its purpose.

Ugh - it’s killing you. You don’t know what to write about and if you did, it won’t be a short story - it will be a fricking five book serie. Yangyang? He has quite a mind. He proposes such good answers and arguments that leave you thinking; if he didn’t hate you so much, you would’ve been debate buddies - and maybe friends.

Hold up, don’t get ahead of yourself.

“Uh- Jeno.” you walk to his table during lunch, finally having the guts to do so. His friends who just got their food glance up at you and you shy away slightly at the attention that you don’t want.

“Hey ____!” He greets you and you smile tightly at him, still feeling the stares of his friends. It’s normal for friends to listen to open conversations that aren’t secretive and rather free - but you kinda wish they would just mind their own business.

But they can’t just do that.

What you didn’t know is that people talk about you. About how you’re almost a dipping flower. You appear and awe people around you unconciously and the moment they blink, you’re gone. But they mostly talk about how you always manage to be placed on top or with Yangyang during German exams. It has them shook.

Yangyang literally MOVED from Germany after living there for 6 years and you haven’t even been there for a mere vacation! You blow people’s minds beyond comprehension and you don’t know it.

“B-by any chance, do you have Liu Yangyang’s phone number..?” Your voice is low and soft, still trying to hide yourself from his friends. “It’s because we haven’t started at the project and I- really- don’t- have any connection with h-him.”

You unconciously play with your fingers, waiting for his reponse that doesn’t take long.

“Iㅡ”

Jeno is interrupted by a pitchy voice that you recognise. “I have his number!”

You turn to the opposite side of the round table to see Lee Donghyuck who has his hand in the air, face bright and smiling sweetly at you. “Do you want it?” He asks, leaning into the table.

“U-uh, yes.. please..”

“Okay, I’ll give it you. But only if you buy me a piece of strawberry cake.” His smile turns to a mischievous one - the change is something you expected. Lee Donghyuck without mischief is not Lee Donghyuck.

You are about to take into his deal until his other friend, whom you believe is named Renjun, smacks his back that you can hear it from where you stand.

“OUCH!” Donghyuck screeches and you hold back a giggle. Jeno pokes your elbow softly, making you turn to him.

“Here.”

[ Come over to my place and let’s get this over with. ] is what Liu Yangyang told you after you accidentally called him. He sent his adress right below all your messages that he just ‘read’.

Ouch. Seenzoned.

Yangyang’s mansion was big - well, mansions are supposed to be big. You didn’t expect Yangyang to be THIS rich. You just got used to the fact that he casually wears a Gucci hoodie during Gym classes.

Right when you stood by the gateway, a gaurd comes up to you with a smile asking, "Are you Young Master Liu's guest?" and you nodded. "Follow me please." Then he escorted you through the gate then to the sandstone driveway to the mansion.

From there, a maid - you assume her to be the head maid due to his cold attitude - greets you in chinese. You swear your mind was rusted when it comes to chinese, but you manage to reply to her politely.

The maid halts infront of one of the many big black doors in the first floor. She doesn't knock and that gives you a mini-heart attack.

"Young Master, please stop playing computer games. Your project partner is here." There goes her cold, monotonous tone sending chills up your spine. You haven't heard someone lack so much passion in speaking.

You bite your bottom lip, unable to think of something to say to Yangyang once you face each other.

Should you say 'Hi Yangyang, let's get to work.'? or 'Liu Yangyang, where have you been?!'?.

You are lost in panicked thoughts that you don't notice the maid telling you can now enter until the worker walks past you to attend to her other duties.

With a deep breath, you cautiously step in the room. Darkness greets you and you eyes search for him. Liu Yangyang.

And he's there.

On his expensive looking gaming chair in front of a set of three monitors. The middle one being a curved screen. Your jaw slack at the sight, eyes trailing to the keyboard constantly glowing with many colors upon clicking.

Liu Yangyang meets your awed gaze, then raising his eyebrow at you - mentally asking why you're still glued in your spot like - the door is open boo.

"Did the maid leave?" Yangyang asks, tone colder for it to be considered a question.

"Uh.. yes.. she did." You answer quietly, above a whisper but loud enough for Yangyang to hear.

"Good," Yangyang turns back to his monitor set, putting his headphones back on. "..close the door behind you and take the study table."

You do as what you're told, closing the door behind you and heading towards the study table situated beside Yangyang's gaming set, but the white leather office chair is situated at the opposite side. So when you sit, you're facing Yangyang to the side.

A notebook is open on the table and you look through it after glimpsing that it's German.

' Eine Mädchen beobachtet einen Mord an einer Familie durch eine Reise in Astral-Zeit. Sie ist nicht sicher, ob sie immer noch verhindert, dass die Ereignisse passieren, aber ihre Vision beweist, dass sie richtig ist. Sie möchte sagen, was sie so nicht gesehen hat, aber niemand wird ihr glauben.'

That was written on the page.

"Is this the story idea?" you ask, picking up the notebook and shows to Yangyang who seems to be doing something in his computer.

Yangyang only glances at the paper then nodding.

"Great. We finally have an idea." You murmur to yourself, placing your laptop after moving Yangyang's macbook aside and turning the study lamp on.

Then you star working, fingers tapping on the keyboard in fast yet smooth motions. Your eyes darting from the notebook then back to your computer. After writing the raw idea, you grab a nearby pen and write down additional ideas to shape the story then transferring them to the document.

'Let's make the murder gruesome.'

'The girl must've been attempting her astral time travelling'

'Make the details of the vision a bit hazy'

Because of your sudden concentrated mood, you don't seem to hear Yangyang's frantic clicking on the keyboard and his mouth commanding his teammates, his eyes trained on the computer and aiming to kill opponents.

Yangyang dies again after being sniped by the opponent Widowmaker for the 5th time during this whole game. He falls back onto the chair in exhaustion, his head dropping to see you still perfectly delved into the task at hand.

He's been playing for almost an hour and a half now while you are still working on forming the plot from the story idea Yangyang literally just wrote when it popped into his mind.

'Why is she rushing?' He thought to himself then the thought of him not showing up to the German classes seems to make him feel a tinge of guilt.

Only a bit.

Without a second tought, Yangyang leaves the game, turning his computer off and placing his headphones down.

He slides himself to sit across your figure while clearing his throat. This made you look up to see him taking out his macbook and starting it up.

Yangyang catches your gaze and sharply asks, "What?" with a sassy raise of his brow.

You rapidly blink, immediately turning your concentration back to the computer. "Nothing. Just surprised you finally decided to come and help.." Your last sentence was low as a whisper, but Yangyang still heard it.

"I'm not completely heartless."

"What do you say if we add another character? Let's say it's the boy's family that was murdered." You ask nonchalantly, suddenly a bit more confined to be able to talk to Yangyang.

This slight change also takes Yangyang aback a bit

"S-Sure.." it's rare to see you confine. You're rather reserved, shy and likes to keep a distance. "But we have to connect him to the main character."

"Let's say he's a transferee and the day he transferred is the say the murder happens." You answer quickly as if you've been expecting the question.

"Let's make it a massacre." You suggest and Yangyang raises an eyebrow. "Let's kill off ALL his family members."

Yangyang chokes in his own saliva at the blunt suggestion.

Him choking makes you blink, realising that you've been too 'businessly talkative'.

"A-are you okay?" You ask, looking around for something that will somehow relieve Yangyang, but finds nothing.

"Just fine."

"Okay.."

Yangyang quickly recovers from his fit and so did the awkward silence that now sits on both of your shoulders.

"I.. like the idea." Yangyang says, opening the document. "There has to be atleast three of his family members. Let's say he has his parents and a younger sister."

"Oh yeah sure." You say, typing it down but seeing as Yangyang has already typed it you click backspace and so did Yangyang. "Ah no - I'll delete mine-"

"I literally just deleted what I wrote." Yangyang groans.

"Sorry- I'll type it again.."

You bite your bottom lip, typing the context.

'Why does she always do that?' the boy questions your habitual demeanor when concentrating.

Your lips are slightly swollen under the pressure of your cute front teeth, your hair pulled up to a bun but a portion of your front hair is layed delicately on both sides of your face - framing it perfectly.

You look up to meet Yangyang's eyes and he immediately looks away - mentally asking himself why in the hecking world did he stare.

The rest of the time they work in silence, only the sound of keyboard keys being pressed and occasional questions about the story plot.

"I have to go now." You announce softly, gathering your things when Yangyang nods in agreement.

Surprisingly, Yangyang follows you to the door. So before leaving, you turn to Yangyang.

"Thanks for bearing with me. I just really want to complete this project." You tell him, sincere eyes shooting through Yangyang's unmoving ones. "Goodbye."

A limousine stops by the entrance and a beautiful woman on her late 40s exits the glossy vehicle, her prada heels landing on the sandstone first.

You immediately bow as soon as you make eye contact. You want to leave, but it will be too rude to do it right now.

"Hello dear." The woman says in chinese, strutting to you who keeps a stable but bright smile. "You must be Yang's project partner?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm _____." You reply, also in chinese and silently thanking your most hated teacher who atleast teached you something good.

"Oh, impressive." Yangyang's mother coos, turning to her son who stands by the porch looking uninterested. "She's also the one who somehow managed to beat you in german class right, son?"

You tense at the mention of 'german class', instantly averting your eyes onto Yangyang whose jaw clenches at the question. There's a feeling in you that just clenches.

You blink in sudden realization, everything suddenly clearer, having the answer to your questions.

Yangyang hates you for being 'better' than him in German class?

Wow.. you should've seen that coming.

"Isn't she the one who got three straight A pluses while you only got two of them and an A." His mother's words take toll on Yangyang. He doesn't like hearing his failure - especially when it comes from his mother with a tone of disappointment.

You watch as Yangyang cold exterior fall when his head hangs low - unable to hold eye contact with his mother.

"Sorry.." he whispers lowly, fingers fidgeting the back of his shirt.

"Anyways," the older woman turns back to you. ".. how's the project going? Is Yang doing his part?"

"It's doing great, ma'am. Yangyang was actually the one who came up with the story idea." You reply, tone always enthusiastic.

"Only the story idea? Huh. What did you came up with Yang? A boy and his tragic love for his violin? Hahaha."

Yangyang's jaw clenches more, his jawline more prominent than it already is.

"Are you staying for dinner, dear?" She asks you.

"Uh, no ma'am. I'm taking my leave now. Good evening." You bow one last time before turning her back and walking out to the gate.

She spares one last glance to see the woman slapping Yangyang's cheek. The scene made you stop on your tracks, worry washing over you.

Feeling like you're staring, Yangyang meets your eyes and he glares.

'All your fault.' he thinks to himself.

⇘ next part

#i am the best #liu yangyang #nct yangyang #yangyang #nct yangyang story #wayv yangyang fluff #wayv #wayv yangyang #rivals #school #school!au

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aquagenesis · 4 years

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This is by no means a vent post or anything I just need to discuss topics and ideas.

It’s so bizarre how, for most of my life, I did have psychotic tendencies and explicitly schizophrenic symptoms. I would get disoriented on a school bus and want to make a big show of it; storm up to the bus driver in a fit of rage and demand to know where I was being taken. I would ask incoherent, nonsense questions in class that would get me a resounding look of “what the fuck are you talking about”. Friends in particular would always take the time to step in and allow me to re-phrase what I was asking because they would learn to understand sometimes information is jumbled in my head, which I am not aware of.

It happens on here too, though I’ve gotten better at it. What begins as a cohesive argument in my mind eventually spirals into a whirlpool of me repeating the same three things, the same three points, the same three everything while pretending it’s something different. Because I have voices in my head that take over and make it hard to focus. I thought everyone heard voices, because how else do you process information? But for other people, it’s not voices. Not ones they can hear, at least.

The only thing that ever stopped me was, incredibly, what I think my paranoia was. I was too afraid of making a scene because I thought, assuredly, they’d always tell me they were going to kill me. I would stand up to assert myself only to get pulled back down in my own head with “if you cause problems, you will die”. I thought that was survival instinct. I prided myself, in fact, on my survival instincts because of things like that. Because I believed every person who utilized and prided their autonomy was doomed to die for their arrogance. How can you exist so unabashedly in life when you know death is something you cannot hide from and cannot know the origin of? Standing up for yourself is putting yourself in harms way; the lines between “what is paranoia” and “what is formative child abuse” are too blurred for me to even care “which one it is” because they’re both the same.

It’s just knowing I was so schizophrenic. Knowing I was so blatantly delusional; I’d get called delusional all the time because I wasn’t living in reality. My original self was already forced to be so separated from its body because of infant-aged trauma when I felt ��normal” it already wasn’t me. Every time I’d stabilize myself in a deeper level of my own psychosis I’d get punched down through another one, like a personal version of Dante’s Inferno.

Of course I developed a dissociative disorder. How else was my psyche supposed to survive losing family members who cared about me, how else was it supposed to survive losing everything. The personality I shifted into to appease my conditions were never good enough; they never protected me enough. It’s so fucked up my brain already had to put me in another reality to cope with not receiving basic physiological needs as an infant and then had to shatter and reform reality after reality because anything was better than living in real life but nothing protected me enough, nothing justified anything enough, nothing could make me feel like I was living how I was meant to.

And then I wonder why I got so deep in it. I wonder why that’s all I knew. It was. Living in delusion was the only thing that kept me from being suicidal, because it made me believe something grand was meant for me at the end of it all. I only broke down because, after everything, after five years of eviction and homelessness, there was still only despair ahead. Now I’m 26. an entire high school education away from 30 but abysmally depressed I had to spend all this time helping myself, and continue to, in the vain hope one thing would ever happen to me to make life worth it.

All I needed was to be pushed into reality, to be shown and taught nothing happened to me in some grand plan. All I needed was a therapist who would listen for long enough in my Anime Tragic Backstory to tell me, “Hey man, that was fucked up, but it’s not like you have to forgive them. You don’t have to be tortured by anything. You can leave other people; you can leave them too.” But therapists are no longer trained to listen to trauma and try to work out anything formative that could have happened to someone. I didn’t know I was schizophrenic. Nobody cared enough to tell me I was unless it was through the “well...you have The Disorder. we have to keep you to make sure your SCARY PSYCHOTIC EPISODE--you’ve seen American Psycho, right?--doesn’t make you do that to yourself or someone else.” lens of “take this medicine and it’ll fix something you don’t think is a problem, because psychosis deludes the brain into thinking it isn’t delusional”.

And there was nothing anyone could have done; my untreated schizophrenia prevented me from being able to work. My delusions would go unchecked, people wouldn’t know I was stretching the truth and neither did I. Through the lens of insanity I doomed coworkers to bitter rivals, others to beloved friends, and still others to unworthy of my respect with nothing in between. My life was a grand path to luxury and respect from the bottom of the earth; who wouldn’t be adored to know me?

I would tell people time and time again I was schizophrenic, I was psychotic, I experienced delusions. I was cast as “the good outcome” of a psychotic condition and my experiences, the only true part of my life, were chalked up to “well there Luke goes with his silly little rants again”. I was abandoned to spiral because I was “okay”; I didn’t experience delusions where I thought I was God (anything remotely attached to that was different, I said it was different), my psychosis never drew me to suicide. Everyone else who claimed they were schizophrenic were automatically compared to me and regarded as “good” or “bad” with no regard to what was swimming around in my brain. If I didn’t have a god complex before (I did, but I said I didn’t, so there’s no blame here), I certainly developed one then.

But I knew I wasn’t someone to be compared to, because I did experience delusions where I thought not that I was God but some higher being, I was drawn to suicide at the drop of a hat. But then I couldn’t admit to those things being so much deeper than they were, because everyone else who experienced these things were “bad” schizophrenics. I was supposed to have this together; I knew I had no right to judge people with my same condition because I knew I was no better than them. If I had a best friend I’d known all my life, I would probably go to them with my ever-wavering mental condition too. That’s what I craved; the ability to tell someone about what was happening to me.

And it’s not like I ever thought I was entitled to people, you know, listening. I never expected anyone to look me in the eyes and tell me “Hey buddy you know you don’t really seem in reality” because if someone said that to me I’d probably freak out and doom them to “Bitter Rival Plus” for the rest of my life. It was the attitude that I was redeemable because of how well I handled everything, the way I never let my symptoms show, the way a one-time freakout seemed more preferable to everyone else but me because “at least he only got that bad once”, as opposed to the risk of smaller breakdowns more often. I lost my ability to realize I had control over myself because the admittedly bad symptoms everyone else experienced, which I did too, never were offered support. I was told a story of a mutual once-friend who threw herself off a roof in the midst of a schizophrenic breakdown. The pitilessness of it all told me I would never find sympathy in admitting my faults.

It’s hard because if it were depression, if it had been depression, this would have been solved eons ago. Anyone can go to a friend and talk through a depression; nobody can go to a friend and talk through a psychotic episode without your companion growing frustrated as you’re unable to grasp reality. Once is fine, twice is annoying, thrice is overwhelming. I can feel it just as anyone. Nobody wants to talk to crazy people.

And what do people think that does, exactly? Do you think your delusional friend can really have a talk once, be told they’re psychotic, and immediately know? How do we have thousands of articles dissecting every aspect of anxiety, from work to generalized, but none to tell the everyman that “psychotic people suffer from a condition that prevents them from differentiating reality from fantasy”. or, we do tell people, but it still follows the same rules of once is fine, twice is annoying, thrice is overwhelming. Depression is a mental condition that causes extended states of misery. Anxiety is a mental condition that causes extended states of stress. Psychosis is a mental condition that causes extended states of, well, delusion. Someone who wakes up already delusional is not going to be able to tell you “when it started”; everything has always felt this way. Now that they can see clearly, because they feel energized (because they are delusional), “nothing is wrong” and they are left to spiral into whatever rabbit hole they fall into.

If we know it’s harmful to tell people with depression and anxiety to “get over it”, why are psychotic people different? Why is it so hard to go into a relationship and be told, explicitly, “I have a psychotic condition”, and follow through as you would anyone else?

“Because psychosis is different.” No further context needed.

#hi guess who it is #it's me and i'm complaining about ment of illness loves #not mine just in general #you know. my lifetime topic of psychosis.

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wheremytwinwatches · 4 years

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[Where My Twin Watches]: Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood Episode 34

Last time: Detective Kimblee got curbstomped, nobody wears hats in freezing weather, and the contents of The Mighty Armstrong’s letter shall forever remain a mystery. Onwards!

Inside Fort Briggs, Ed is shocked to learn that having a metal limb attached to your flesh in subzero weather can be hazardous to your health, he’s being treated for exposure. A spiky-haired blonde doctor’s talking about how the cold freezes flesh and unoiled automail will stiffen.

So do all automail Briggs soldiers carry around oil cans, then? Like Buccaneer, who just came into the med room complaining about Al’s head being stuck in his chainsaw-arm. Apparently northern automail- Hold up, is it just me or does this new guy in a labcoat who’s working on Buccy’s arm look like Havoc? Eh, maybe it’s just the cigarette. -northern automail is flexible, lightweight, and resistant to the cold, so they worked out an alloy. And here Ed was just trying to transmute iron, makes sense a blend of metals he’s not consciously trying to manipulate would resist him. Aw, Buccy has an actual automail arm while his chainsaw is getting worked on. I was hoping for shoe-tying shenanigans. After the obligatory “wait this kid’s equivalent to an officer?” moment the Doc recommends he call for Winry to make a cold-weather arm. If he wants to live, that is. Also, that’ll be a hundred cens for the coffee thank you. Hmmm, maybe Ed should do some research on the place he’s going next time? I get that he’s used to Central military life, but the North seems to run on different rules. Still doesn’t keep him from being irritated. [Major-General Armstrong]: “Hello, little red runt.” Major-General Armstrong; so intimidating that when she nicknames our height-sensitive protagonist after a fairy tale he’s too frozen with fear to respond. And then the mechanic returns Al’s head with his “hair” left a scraggly stump? This day is not going the Elric Brothers’ way. Episode 34 - “Ice Queen” ...as much as I like Major-General Armstrong so far and you lot seem to worship her, I have a lot of favorite characters who have taken the title “Ice Queen”. Let’s see how she stacks up against them. Taking a seat at a small desk (I thought it was hers to show off an austere lifestyle or whatever until that picture of North Doc’s family, guess she commandeered the office for a bit), Major-General Armstrong asks how her brother Alex is doing. Aw, she cares! Except for snarling after the brothers say the big strong guy they know and love is doing great? (Please tell me she has a height complex with her little brother, please tell me she has a height complex with her little brother…) Anyways, time to explain why they came north. They can’t say much though, while they want to eventually deal with Uncle if they talk about the Goths it could reach the Fuhrer, and then Winry (and Riza) are in trouble. The brothers decide to just talk about the quest to recover their bodies, tracking down May to the north. Major-General Armstrong… calls them Trouble Magnets and tells them to GTFO of her fort. Except that’s what she’d “like” to say but her interest in Alkahestry trumps her irritation with the protagonists. Knowledge is power, and knowing a skill that’s little understood in her home country could be useful in defending its borders. Another weapon for the arsenal… Hoo boy. Al protests that Alkahestry is specialized for medical healing, Major-General Armstrong snaps that- [Major-General Armstrong]: “My job is far more perilous than yours. I will make use of any knowledge that I can get my hands on.” Ok then. I’m getting that people like her attitude and all… but I’m kinda concerned about that line. If her immediate reaction to Alkahestry is “how can I weaponize this”, I’m worried what Major-General Armstrong’s opinion on Philosophers Stones would be. Major-General Armstrong declares that she’ll track down May while the Brothers stay inside the fort, telling Major Miles (is that Sideburns-Guy who’s been by her side all this time?) to put them to work. No work, no food, capiche? Then down the corridor she goes with Buccy, talking about how they’re still “soft and weak”, and that they haven’t told her everything. Major Miles/Sideburns is leading the Brothers somewhere, Ed tries to engage him in conversation but he stays silent. Ed gripes that they keep getting asked questions but don’t get any answers, when Sideburns stops and- Ishvalan! Sideburns is Ishvalan! Ok then! While it’s common knowledge that Ishvalans were purged (yeesh) from the army before the War of Extermination, Sideburns is half-Ishvalan so apparently got to stay in the military as Ed’s country destroyed that of his grandfather. Ed lets out a shaky breath and says Sideburns’ people destroyed the countryside, and one of them murdered his friend’s parents. The two stare eachother down… until Sideburns chuckles? A test? Ed didn’t give him the response he’s used to (shame and pity), but it’s understandable given his complicated relationship with Scar. Wait, attempted kidnapping? When did Scar try to kidnap you, as far as I can remember all your interactions were either trying to kill each other or you using him as Goth Bait. Sideburns seems pleased with Ed’s views, ushers him on while explaining that yes he was active duty during the War, being outside the military purge requirements he stayed while his relatives died in the East. He understandably resented the military’s actions, and was confused as to why Major-General Armstrong would keep him around as a ranking officer given the racial tensions. Eventually he asked her. [Major-General Armstrong]: “This is Briggs. No matter what happens, this territory must not fall. Every soldier here must be both strong and flexible. You must move as one cohesive unit, following me your leader in all things and at all times. In short, we do not have the luxury of discrimination here. The blood of several races flows within you, and with that comes varying strengths and values. You can see this country in a way that others cannot. I was born and raised in Amestris; in order to lead I need someone with your eyes. Now shut up and follow me, Miles! Understood?!” Damn! Sorry, had to include that entire quote. Still worried about the desire to weaponize Alkahestry (and possibly Philosopher’s Stones), but I’ve gotta respect that speech. Pfft! And in addition to that awesome quote, when Sideburns asked if he can’t get over his resentment about the Extermination? [Major-General Armstrong]: *sword drawn* “Fine then, bring it! On behalf of the military I will accept your challenge any time!” Badass in Command for sure. And when Ed speculates that she said that because she had all those troops at her back Sideburns is quick to nope that idea right out. Scary lady is scary. They’re outside now, Sideburns expounding on the Survival of the Fittest culture of Briggs. You don’t have power? Dead. You have it? You might survive. Private or general, all are equal to that rule. And apparently they respect various forms of power, Sideburns notes Ed’s high luck when he trips and dodges a falling icicle. Ok, have to admit my first thought was Sideburns would say “we leave these icicles up because if you get killed from falling ice you’ve got no business at Briggs” to expand on the Survival of the Fittest, but they’ve got more common sense than that. The Brothers are assigned to scrape off the falling threats, after that they’ll get a room. Aw, poor vertically-challenged Ed can’t reach the ice while his little brother knocks them down with ease, when someone who recognizes them walks up. Oh hey, Falman! That’s right, you did get reassigned to the north. Or actually, wasn’t it the Northern Command Center? Apparently he was for a bit, but then promotion and shuffling over to Briggs. Unfortunately despite the shoulder bling the Brothers pick up that doing grunt work like this means he’s off the career track? Come on kiddos, show some tact when noting the middle-aged guy is off the advancement list! I’d run away crying too! After Falman gets it out of his system, he takes Ed and Al to the Research and Development Center, where there are a bunch of guys working on tanks. Seems Major-General Armstrong’s interest in keeping a weapon advantage extends to taking the latest Amestrian technologies and turning them into weapons. So it does extend beyond Alkahestry, then. Hmmm. Now they’re being shown a massive mechanical room, giant red pipes and fans everywhere. Falman says this is the lowest level of Fort Briggs, since Ed comments that it’s warm I’m assuming this is the engineering room that keeps all the toilets in the fort from freezing, as well as several less-important functions. [Falman]: “Even if the fort’s attacked, this area will remain safe.” ...now why did you have to say that, Falman? You know the Irony Gods can’t resist a line like that. Looking around, Ed’s pushed aside by a mechanic who’s inspecting a pipe for an odd noise, then puts his head to the ground when the Ominous Piano starts up. Digging? Spies from Drachma? Uh, the screens starting to shake and the sound is getting louder, if these are spies they are the least subtle spies I have ever seen/heard. Wait. Not Drachma! NOT DRACHMA! WE HAVE GOTH SIGN! Way, way back in the show we saw the Goth Sloth digging somewhere. I guess we know where that is now! But why? Sloth seems to have a deep voice, saying that it’s annoying to do all this digging, but it’d be a pain to die so whatever. Huh, so this Goth’s being interpreted as apathetic? Guess we’ll find out now, there goes the floor! Mid-ep pictures of Major Miles and yup, that’s Sloth. Major-General Armstrong’s getting a report on Kimblee, seems he’s been checked into a hospital after the train battle. She’s upset to hear that he’s free, especially by the Fuhrer’s orders, but that’ll have to wait because alarm! Intruder in the base!

Sloth sloooowly crawls out of the ground, a big hulking brute facing down the engineers and Elric Brothers. Sloth stares… Ed stares… Sloth stares… Ed stares… Sloth falls asleep wait what? Ooookay then. After the Brothers’s outburst Sloth wakes up and they claim they’re just there to research a way to recover their bodies. But Sloth doesn’t care? Doesn’t know them? What, did Sloth just get told to dig a tunnel to Briggs way back when and hasn’t been updated since? Why? Oh for- Buccy! They aren’t Drachman spies! Yes it looks suspicious that they were talking with the Goth, but that’s because they can’t engage it directly! So now that Sloth has finished his tunnel he seems at a loss for what to do, just stumbles forward and tosses aside a pipe segment (that nearly crushes Ed) because it was in his way. So what I’m getting is that Sloth is even more the dumb muscle of the group than Gluttony was. And durable too, the other Goths had to heal from bullet wounds but they’re just bouncing off him. Sloth shambles onto an elevator and bumps into the lever to rise, seems he’s heading to Development. Ooh, do we get to see the tanks in action? Everyone runs upstairs where troops are running around with rifles, and some hapless mechanics are stacking boxes and arming themselves with pipes. Yeah, don’t bother guys. Sloth arrives and they get ready to- [Major-General Armstrong]: “Don’t move!” *Rocket Launcher* Damn! Someone find me a good picture of her pose after that shot. Unfortunately it’s about as effective as the small rounds were, she tosses the useless rocket launcher to a hapless trooper and orders the alarm turned off. Don’t want the Drachmans to catch wind of an opportunity. Drachma this, Drachma that… part of me is imagining that this is a one-sided rivalry. [Imaginary!Drachman #1]: “Hey, do you hear that? Sounds like an alarm going off at the Amestrian fort.” [I!D #2]: “Wait, they’re still staffing that place? We decommissioned our own fort years ago, ever since we found the Light of Leto. I hope they’re ok.” [I!D #1]: “Perhaps we should send someone over to check on them. Ooh, and deliver some pamphlets!” yessss. We’ve got working tanks! Major-General Armstrong orders the fuses removed from the shells, and reassumes the title of Tank Lady as she boards the vehicle, swings her sword, and gives the command. Fire! Headshot, byotch! Sadly, these are Goths we’re talking about, who all raise a massive middle finger at any non-Alchemy means of attack. A shot from a tank shell just scraped Sloth’s cheek away, and it regrew in a matter of seconds. Sloth just gripes that pain is a pain, and stomps forward. Another shot lodges in his gut but is tossed aside and healed even faster, and further shots just bounce off. Damn, he has Adaptive Ability? Sloth’s “back to work” smashing stuff now, sends some boxes and lockers flying which Ed stops with a Transmuted stone hand. Major-General Armstrong notes his protecting her minions, and then Ed runs up to say stop wasting ammo. She demands answers, but Ed can’t answer without explaining about the Goths and violating the Fuhrer’s deal. In the end it boils down to one question: “Are you on our side or are you in league with that thing?” Ed just doesn’t want to see anyone get hurt, so the Major-General sets that aside and orders Buccy to get some tank fuel. I suppose burning did work on Lust, but that was Alchemy. Hmmm, Major-General Armstrong says they can’t stop it, just delay. And they need something stronger than fire? What are you planning? [Major-General Armstrong, smirking]: “Now you get to see the Briggs way, kid.” Oh my Leto don’t you dare aaaaargh. End of episode. Stop cutting me off, damn it! Alright! We’ve gotten some more info on Major-General Armstrong, who I’m still reserving a nickname for until I’ve got some more info on her character. I am really, really liking a lot of what I’ve seen so far, but after her immediate jump on weaponizing Alkahestry and the drive to research and develop new weapons I worry about her response to Philosopher Stones. Hopefully my fears will be unfounded and she can earn a nickname, it’s a real pain to type out Major-General Armstrong all the time. Sloth! Interesting that they went with the apathy aspect of his Sin, seems to be a guy that prefers to follow orders because thinking for himself takes more effort. Definitely got a chuckle when he up and fell asleep facing the Elrics, good humor potential there. And impressively strong, too! Should be a good battle next episode. With him I believe we’ve only got one Goth left unseen, Pride, who’s hanging out in Central with the other Goths and Uncle.

#wmtw #where my twin watches #full metal alchemist #full metal alchemist brotherhood #fmab #fmab 34

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bts-aesthetic-drabbles · 5 years

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BTS as Halloween themed characters Part 2: (Seokjin)

It is Halloween night in the year 2000 and you are busy stirring some trouble on the streets of some random neighborhood in an even more random town in the middle of absolutely nowhere.

You meander your way through the dozens of sweaty children who are dressed in a wide variety of cheesy Halloween costumes. Your standard vampire, your basic ghost, your boring princess....

As you walk you pull playful tricks on the children who pass by you such as tipping over their candy buckets and blowing their insultingly stereotypical witches hats off of their tiny little heads with a mere flick of your wrist.

Your pranks are never mean or harmful exactly, simply annoying and inconvenient for those who are unlucky enough to experience them.

It has always been your favorite Halloween past time since you were a child. You and your best friend always spent Halloween together pulling the pranks on unsuspecting trick or treaters. But sadly, this is the first year you are tricking without your friend here. Sadly they moved to another country this last summer to join a very popular coven.

You are quickly growing bored of the whiny children and rude teenagers that are all over the streets like ants on a log. Just as you are about to give up and call it a night you spot him.

A man about 30 yards away, dressed in a suit and tie with the most horrifically beautiful face. He is so handsome that you physically can’t help but to stare at him with wide eyes and an almost drooling mouth. The man’s eyes meet your and he lifts his finger up to his face and gently taps on the tip of his chin with a finger. Rudely gesturing for you to close your jaw which is most defiantly hanging wide open.

His cocky smirk and chuckle are what finally snap you out of your daze and leave you feeling annoyed with yourself for boosting his obviously already very high ego.

The man notices your shift in attitude and just for a second you can see his cool attitude falter. He panics for just a split second as he realizes his magic isn’t working on you like it is supposed too. No one has ever been able to break the powerful spell of his gaze, no one except you.

Suddenly you become aware of something very wrong and sinister about the man across the road from you.

He exudes an aura of power and confidence that makes everyone near him step out of his way. No one on the busy street is even close to touching him, there is like a 20 foot force field around him where no one is walking. It scares you.

You quickly avert your eyes from the direction of the man and turn on your heels and begin walking back the way you came.

It seems like time is moving so slowly as you quickly make your way down the street. Seconds feel like minutes as you desperately try to put a safe distance between yourself and the man.

Out of no where you suddenly feel an intense gaze just behind you, which makes the hairs on the back of you neck stand on end. A chill runs from your spine and down your arms as a voice whispers, “Enchantress...have you put a spell on me? Because I am utterly charmed by your beauty...”

The words are said in a low flirty tone that makes you nervous that you can’t even muster a single word back. How did he get behind you so fast? And how in the world does he know that you are a witch?

“Who are you, and what do you want from me?” You finally say as you get your voice back and take a big step away from the man as you look into his piercing eyes.

“Ah, me? My name is Seokjin but you can call me your broomstick. Because I want you to ride me all night long...” He laughs in a loud and very unique way that makes you want to laugh even though you are scared out of your mind.

You roll your eyes and turn around and start walking away again. The dark atmosphere has faded into something less sinister and more comedic. Who even is this guy? Why is he so intense?

“Look Seokjin, it was nice meeting you. But I’ve got to go. I have things to do.” I say as I completely ignore the guy behind me who is still following me.

“Hmm, I don’t think you do. I’ve seen what your Halloween plans have consisted of. And terrorizing children and pissing off teenagers hardly counts as ‘things to do’. Why don’t you come with me and I can show you something that will really scare someone.” He says in a serious tone as he reaches out and touches my shoulder while pulling me back with him.

For some reason, I trust this intense and mischevious man...I trust him the entire time he walks with me, as he takes me far away from the busy streets and down several dark alleys. I trust him even as he pushes open a rusty metal door to an old abandoned factory and escorts me on the dark and dirty smelling building.

I don’t even question it, he is just so unbelievably charming. There is something about him that just makes me want to do whatever he says, to follow him where ever he goes.

It isn’t until he shoves my shoulders back and pins me against a cold metal machine that I finally feel the cold sting of fear.

His face is mere inches from my own as he smirks down at me. I can feel the panic spread from my head to my fingertips as he grabs my wrists and binds them with thick, salt covered ropes that are used prevent my magic from being able to break the ropes.

“What do you want with me? Who exactly are your Seokjin?” I stutter as the man ties my arms above my head to the machine behind me.

My eyes follow him as he crosses the room and pulls out a large metal sledge hammer from behind a table.

“Ah, I’m just a comedian! A clown if you prefer. I make people laugh until they cry. That’s my day job at least...but my favorite thing to do is to bash in the brains of bratty little witches and watch as they bleed out! Now be a good little witch and hold still...” He says with a wicked smile as he holds the hammer high above his head.

A scream rips from my throat as I struggle against the twine restraints on my wrists. Seokjins arms come swinging down hard with the hammer I his hands.

This is it, I’m gonna die at the hands of a handsome fucking clown.

My eyes squeeze shut and I scream out as the hammer comes into contact with my skull.

A loud squeak echos though the silent building.

Followed by a loud windshield wiper laugh.

And finally my brain begins to process the fact that I am in fact; not dead with my bratty little witch brain splattered all over the cement floor.

“Okay, call me crazy but was that an inflatable hammer you just tried to kill me with?” I say with confusion and panic laced in my every word.

As Seokjin finally stops laughing he unties my arms and speaks, “That was so mean I am sorry! But that worked insanely well! You said you wanted to be scared, which you were. Now let me make it up to you and take you out for the rest of the night. I know this awesome club that you would love”

I rub my wrists and blink at the guy in shock as he nonchalantly pulls out a red rose from his back pocket and places it in my hair. His finger tips brush along my hair and cheek before they come to a rest at my neck.

“Shall we?” He smiles his ever charming smile at me before I take a deep breath and we begin walking out of the building.

This man is intensely intoxicating. There’s just something about him.

Powerful and unforgettable.

#bts seokjin #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts kim seokjin #bts #bts fic #bts jin #halloween

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ashtray-girl · 5 years

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By Grand Central Station I Sat Down And Wept and its role in Morrissey’s lyricism

PLOT This is a short prose poetry novel in which author Elizabeth Smart recounts her love affair with married poet George Barker (even though she began writing it years before they met). Said affair lasted 18 years and she bore 4 of his 15 children, whom he had from several different women.

The novel is divided in 10 parts, so I’ll proceed by summing up each one of them while also highlighting the parts which I think are relevant to the Morrissey discourse.

DISCLAIMER: even though there isn’t much of a plot to spoil (the focus is placed almost entirely on the narrator’s feelings and in the way they’re expressed), I am gonna quote extensively from every chapter so keep that in mind if you intend to read the book for yourself.

PART I The protagonist is waiting at the bust station for the man she loves to collect her (she never names him btw) but when he finally comes he’s with his wife and it’s her that the protagonist sees first.

“But then it is her eyes that come forward out of the vulgar disembarkers to reassure me that the bus has not disgorged disaster: her madonna eyes, soft as the newly-born, trusting as the untempted. And, for a moment, at that gaze, I am happy to forego my future, and postpone indefinitely the miracle hanging fire. […] Behind her he for whom I have waited for so long, who has stalked so unbearably through my nightly dreams.”

It’s interesting to note the way she talks about her. Even though she’s wildly in love with this man, she never badmouths her. On the contrary, throughout the story she seems to have a good opinion of her.

“I see she can walk across the leering world and suffer injury only from the ones she loves. But I love her and her silence is propaganda for sainthood.”

You know what all of this reminds me of? The time Angie collected Morrissey at the station to take him to Johnny’s house, a few days after Johnny had knocked on Morrissey’s door and they’d talked about forming a band. Did he expect it would be Johnny who’d come and pick him up? Did he know he had a girlfriend?

“So we drive along the Californian coast singing together, and I entirely renounce him for only her peace of mind.”

I don’t know if the narrator shares Morrissey’s fascination with cars (I don’t even think the two things are necessarily related), but it’s worth pointing out how some of the most important and dramatic scenes of the book happen in a car.

“Why do I not jump off this cliff where I lie sickened by the moon? I know these days are offering me only murder for my future. It is not just the creeping fingers of the cold that dissuade me from action, and allow me to accept the hypocritical hope that there may be some solution. Like Macbeth, I keep remembering that I am their host. So it’s tomorrow’s breakfast rather than the future’s blood that dictates fatal forbearance. Nature, perpetual whore, distracts with the immediate.”

Look at this entire paragraph and tell me it isn’t the most Morrissey thing you’ve ever read. Also, does any part of it sound familiar? Well, let’s look at the lyrics for Shakespeare’s Sister:

Young bones groan, and the rocks below say “Throw your skinny body down, son"

But I'm going to meet the one I love So please don't stand in my way Because I'm going to meet the one I love No, mama, let me go

Young bones groan and the rocks below say "Throw your white body down"

But I'm going to meet the one I love At last, at last, at last! I'm going to meet the one I love

Then the protagonist gets to the couple’s house and her sudden proximity to the man she loves brings the feelings she’s been trying to repress right back to the surface:

“The Beginning lurks uncomfortably on the outskirts of the circle, like an unpopular person whom ignoring can keep away. The very silence, the very avoiding of any intimacy between us, when he, when he was only a word, was able to cause me sleepless nights and shivers of intimation, is the more dangerous. Our seeming detachment gathers strength. I sit back impersonally and say, I see human vanity, or feel myself full of gladness because there is a gentleness between him and her, or even feel irritation because he lets her do too much of the work, sits lolling whilst she chops wood for the stove.”

There’s an unmistakable feeling of impeding doom, as if she knows that even though nothing physical has happened between them yet, she’s sealed her own deal just by being there with him and it’s only a matter of time before the inevitable strikes.

“While we drive along the road in the evening, talking as impersonally as a radio discussion, he tells me: ‘A boy with green eyes and long lashes, whom I had never seen before, took me into the back of a printshop and made love to me, and for two weeks I went around remembering the numbers on bus conductors’ hats.’ ‘One should love beings whatever their sex’, I reply, but withdraw into the dark with my obstreperous shape of shame, offended with my own flesh which cannot metamorphose into a printshop boy with armpits like chalices.”

So there you have it: Meaningful Car Scene n°1. He confesses he had a homosexual experience (and he enjoyed it, or so it seems) and she’s jealous but not outraged or disgusted, which is quite a big deal if you think this book was first published in 1945. (It’s also worth noting that, in her later years, Elizabeth Smart had affairs with both men and women). Another thing I noticed as I was writing this is that sentence, “remembering the numbers on bus conductors’ hats”, which reminded me of that line in Phoney:

Who can make Hitler Seem like a bus conductor? You do, oh Phoney you do

It’s probably just a coincidence, but I found it funny nonetheless.

“He kissed my forehead driving along the coast in the evening, and now, wherever I go, like the sword of Damocles, that greater never-to-be-given kiss hangs above my doomed head. He took my hand between the two shabby front seats of the Ford, and it was dark, and I was looking the other way, but now that hand casts everywhere an octopus shadow from which I can never escape. The tremendous gentleness of that moment smothers me under; […] I stand on the edge of the cliff, but the future is already done.”

Meaningful Car Scene n°2. There’s a first attempt at physical contact and by now he seems to have realised she has feelings for him, so he’s trying to see how far he can push himself with her.

Now, I’m just gonna go ahead and say it: I feel like something very similar to this may have happened between Johnny and Morrissey. The reason why I decided to write this analysis is because, once I read the book, I fully realised the pervasiveness of its influence in many of the lyrics Morrissey wrote while he was in The Smiths (especially during the Meat Is Murder era) and in the first years of his solo career but, as much as people talked about it, I feel like they never went deep enough. The way I see it, Morrissey had every reason to relate to the protagonist, even though she’s a woman. Someone who falls deeply in love with a married man (with bisexual tendencies, it seems) and is quite concerned with the ethics of what she’s doing but at the same time is very certain of her feelings for him. The man, on the other hand, seems to have a much more ambiguous attitude, accepting her love but also wanting to keep a respectable façade by staying with his wife. If we assume that Morrissey did harbour romantic feelings for Johnny, it’s easy to see why he would choose this book as a way to sublimate them, especially if we consider how the queer factor would’ve made them even less acceptable in the eyes of society.

But going back to the book… what about the man’s wife?

“By day she obeys the voice of love as the stricken obey their god, and she walks with the light step of hope which only the naive and the saints know. […] He also is bent towards her in an attitude of solicitude. Can he hear his own heart while he listens for the tenderness of her sensibilities? Is there a way at all to avoid offending the lamb of god?”

As I said before, she doesn’t seem to be especially jealous of his wife, but that may be because at the moment she’s high on the secret attentions her husband is giving her, so it’s easy for her to feel sorry for this other woman who’s being cheated on right under her own roof.

I can’t help but think about how Morrissey and Angie had their own relationship and seemed to be quite close. I mean, that must have been a bit of a weird dynamic (for Moz at least), and I wonder how they worked it out.

“I never was in love with death before, nor felt grateful because the rocks below could promise certain death. But now the idea of dying violently becomes an act wrapped in attractive melancholy, and displayed with every blandishment. For there is no beauty in denying love, except perhaps by death, and towards love what way is there? To deny love, and deceive it meanly by pretending that what is unconsummated remains eternal, or that love sublimated reaches highest to heavenly love, is repulsive, as the hypocrite’s face is repulsive when placed too near the truth. […] I might be better fooled, but can I see the light of a match while burning in the arms of the sun?”

There’s another reference to dying by throwing herself off a cliff, but the really interesting part is what comes after. The narrator rejects the idea that spiritual love is the highest form of love, which is achieved by embracing its physical side instead. It’s not enough for her to have a platonic bond with the man she loves because she wants him in mind, body and soul.

While reading this, I couldn’t help but draw some parallels:

- “Dying violently becomes an act wrapped in attractive melancholy.” → “To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die.” - “Can I see the light of a match while burning in the arms of the sun?” → “There is a light and it never goes out.”

And then, opening the penultimate paragraph of this first chapter:

“I have learned to smoke because I need something to hold on to. I dare not be without a cigarette in my hand.”

This is one of the most obvious one. If we look at the lyrics for What She Said (which is based almost entirely on this book), it’s pretty self-explanatory:

What she said: ‘I smoke ‘cause I’m hoping for a nearly death And I need to cling to something.’

PART II This part is mainly about the remorse the protagonist is feeling towards the man’s wife, who has now realised something happened between the two of them.

“Her eyes pierced all the veils that protected my imagination against ruinous knowledge. […] Is there no other channel of my deliverance except by her martyrdom?”

It’s quite interesting to note how the chapter opens with:

“God, come down […] and tell me who will drown in so much blood.”

And then, on the next page:

“I am blind, but blood, not love, blinded my eye. Love lifted the weapon but guided my crime.”

Both of these lines reminded me of the lyrics for Yes, I Am Blind:

Yes, I am blind No, I can't see The good things Just the bad things, oh...

Yes, I am blind No, I can't see There must be something Horribly wrong with me?

God, come down If you're really there Well, you're the one who claims to care

It then goes on:

“… she whom I have injured, and whose agony it is my penalty to watch, lies gasping, but still living, on the land.”

- “Gasping, but still living.” → “Gasping, but somehow still alive.” (Well I Wonder)

PART III The narrator spends most of this chapter gushing about how in love she is with this man, who in the meantime has followed her back home to spend some time with her (though it’s not clear whether he has left his wife for her or not.)

“Even the precise geometry of his hand, when I gaze at it, dissolves me into water and I flow away in a flood of love.”

(I have nothing to say about this line except that I like it and that I can’t help but imagine Morrissey staring at Johnny’s hands as he picks the chords of his guitar, thinking these exact same thoughts.)

“When the Ford rattles up to the door, five minutes (five years) late, and he walks across the lawn under the pepper-trees, I stand behind the gauze curtains, unable to move to meet him, or to speak, as I turn to liquid to invade his every orifice when he opens the door.”

Yet another reference to his car. Also yeah, you’re wet for him, we get it.

“And there is so much for me, I am suddenly so rich, and I have done nothing to deserve it, to be so overloaded. All after such a desert. All after I had learnt to say, I am nothing, and I deserve nothing. […] It has happened, the miracle has arrived, everything begins today, […] all the paraphernalia of existence, all my sad companions of these last twenty years, […] all the world solicits me with joy, leaps at me electrically, claiming its birth at last.”

I can’t help but think about how similarly Morrissey must have felt after Johnny knocked on his door, after having spent his last twenty years in much the same way the narrator had, feeling lonely and isolated.

I mean, he even said so himself:

“He appeared at a time when I was deeper than the depths, if you like. And he provided me with this massive energy boost. I could feel Johnny’s energy just seething inside of me.”

“I was there, dying, and he rescued me.”

The chapter ends with this sentence:

“Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm, for love is strong as death.”

Which kinda reminds me of that part in Rusholme Ruffians:

So scratch my name on your arm with a fountain pen (This means you really love me)

PART IV This is, in my opinion, the book’s most interesting chapter. What happens is, they get stopped as they’re crossing the Arizona border and once the cops realise they’re together but not married to each other, the take them to the police station, interrogate them for several hours about the nature of their relationship and then make them leave separately.

Once again, one of the most dramatic scenes takes place in a car.

I fully believe that Morrissey wrote both The Boy With The Thorn In His Side and later Late Night, Maudlin Street with this entire part in mind.

“They are taking me away in a police car […] They are prosecuting me for silence and for love […] They drove me away in a police car. […] For too much love, only for too much love. […] Are you not convinced, inspector? Do you not believe in love?”→ “They took you away in a police car / Inspector – don’t you know? Don’t you care? Don’t you know – about love?” (Late Night, Maudlin Street)

“They intercepted our love because of what was in our eyes. […] Did they see such flagrant proof and still not believe?” → “How can they see the love in our eyes and still they don’t believe us?” (The Boy With The Thorn In His Side)

I wonder who “they” were, though. I mean, we know that in the book, when she says: “They are prosecuting me for silence and for love” she clearly means the authorities, but what did Morrissey mean? Were “they” those same “people who are weaker/uglier than you and I” and those “evil people (who) prosper over the likes of you and me always”? And did he have some specific names in mind, or did he just mean society in general? As in: “They (the general public / the media / the music industry) can’t (don’t want to?) see we love each other because they’re not ready to accept that idea yet, but they’re more than happy to profit from us and our art, which is only made possible BECAUSE of that love.”

The penultimate paragraph before the end of the chapter feels especially relevant:

“All our wishes were private, we desired no more scope than ourselves. Could we corrupt the young by gazing into each other’s eyes? Would they leave their offices? Would big business suffer?”

PART V The protagonist comes back home feeling sorry for herself. Her family doesn’t approve of her relationship with a married man, but she refuses to apologise and spends most of her time contemplating nature and reminiscing about what happened.

Another quote which Morrissey probably used as inspiration for Late Night…

“Every yellow or scarlet leaf hangs like a flag waving me on.” → “Every hag waves me on / Secretly wishing me gone.”

PART VI The protagonist has an argument with her father, who’s worried about her state. Her mother doesn’t want to have anything to do with her anymore and even her brother is sceptical about the whole situation. She then reminisces about leaving Ottawa with him (she’s Canadian) and she talks at length about how they’re meant to be together no matter what. She also finds out she’s pregnant.

At the start, she mentions neighbours who warn her to stay away from him:

“The well-meaning matrons who, from their insulated living say, ‘My dear, I think you would would regret it afterwards if you broke up a marriage,’ ‘When you felt it about to happen the right thing would have been to have gone away at once.”

I wonder how many people around The Smiths were aware of Morrissey being in love with Johnny (because at this point, no one can convince me he wasn’t) and, if they were, how much did they know? Did they ever talked to him about it? Did they warn him about being cautious, about not revealing too much of his own feelings in his songs? And did they mention how bad it would look for him if he broke up a couple?

“The policeman grows fatter each day and rivals the new tanks. He blots out the doorway of the little café. A couple seeing him spills the milk at the counter, remembering what they did under the bridge last night. But the policeman is blind. He strikes only when he hears a loud noise. There are others, though, who have eyes like shifty hawks, and they prowl the streets searching for a face whereon an illegal kiss might be forming. No, there is no defence for love, and tears will only increase the crime.”

Here she’s talking about how, while in the midst of a war (the book is set in the 40s), the police (and society in general) seem to be concerned with futile things like arresting people who are doing nothing but love each other and it reminds me of a quote from Morrissey’s Autobiography:

“Men were draped with medals for killing other men yet imprisoned for loving one another.”

Later on, she makes a point of proclaiming herself ready to take their relationship as it is, without expecting much of a future.

“Though this is all there is […] I accept it without tomorrows and without any lilies of promise. It is enough, the now, and though it comes without anything, it gives me everything. […] But as long as the accessories are such now as to make me over-armed with weapons to combat the antagonistic world, even if a thousand programs go wrong, I won’t lament that past I was when I could see no future.”

She then tries to dissipate any doubts he might have about their relationship (because it looks as if he’s already starting to second-guess himself) by repeatedly reassuring him that she’s the one for him and that, as much as he tries, he can’t escape that fact.

“Remember I am not temptation to you, but everything is which inclines you away. Nor are you to me, but my entire goal. Sometimes you see this as clearly as I do now, for you say, ‘Do you think if I didn’t I could have…?’”.

I wonder… if Johnny hadn’t already been with Angie when he knocked on Morrissey’s door, would things have panned out differently for them? Would they have dared to take their relationship to the next level in spite of society’s backlash?

“Do you see me then as the too-successful one, like a colossus whose smug thighs rise obliviously out of sorrow? Or as the detestable all-female, who grabs and devours, invulnerable with greed? Alas, these are your sins, your garments of shame, and not the blond-sapling boys with blue eye-shadow leaning amorously towards you in the printshop.”

Leaving aside the fact that this man is garbage, she’s obviously anxious to reassure him that it’s not his bisexuality that saddens her, but the fact that he sees her as a threat.

Also that line, “grabs and devours”, will then be used by Morrissey in The Headmaster Ritual:

He grabs and devours He kicks me in the showers Kicks me in the showers And he grabs and devours

By the end of the chapter though, her words of comfort are starting to sound ominous:

“Only remember: I am not the ease, but the end. I am not to blind you but to find you. What you think is the sirens singing to lure you to your doom is only the voice of the inevitable, welcoming you after so long a wait. I was made only for you.”

PART VII The man has a breakdown and he’s interned in a psych facility. She tries to go and see him, but his wife is already there. He’d previously written her a letter, asking her to take him back. The protagonist leaves and when she comes back a few days later they leave together, but when she tries to confront him about the letter he refuses to listen to her. They have a fight and she ends up capitulating because he’s still ill and she wants to believe him when he tells her she’s the only one.

“My love, why did you leave me on Lexington Avenue in the Ford that had no breaks?” This line reminds me a bit of Break Up The Family, when Morrissey says:

Hailstones, driven home In a car – no breaks? I don’t mind

Which coincidentally is what’s happening in this chapter: the honeymoon phase is clearly over, he’s having troubles with his guilty conscience and he deals with them by distancing himself from her, even though she’s expecting his child.

PART VIII He and his wife move to London where the war is raging and, after a while, the protagonist follows them. She stays in a dingy hotel and he occasionally visits her to have sex with her, but by now it’s clear that he has no intention of leaving his wife for her, so they often fight and every day she’s getting more and more desperate and isolated.

The chapter opens with the line:

“His brother and his mother and his grandmother lie abandoned in death on the stones of the London Underground.”

This vaguely reminds me once again of Late Night…

You gran died And you mother died On Maudlin Street In pain and ashamed With never time to say Those special things

“Bombs are bigger, but the human brains they burst remain the same. It is the faces we once kissed that are being smashed in the English coastal towns, the hand we shook that are swept up with the debris […] and love still uproots the heart better than an imagined landmine.”

This paragraph makes me think of Ask:

Because if it’s not love Then it’s the bomb, the bomb, the bomb, the bomb The bomb, the bomb That will bring us together

In the meantime, their relationship is going sour and the protagonist feels they’re reaching a breaking point.

“When the ship cracks in the typhoon, we cover our heads and tell ourselves that all will resolve back to normal. But we are unbelieving. This time may not be like the other times that with time grew into cheerful anecdotes. […] O where does he stalk like a horse in pastures very far afield? I cannot hear him, and silence writes more terrible things than he can ever deny. Is there a suspicion the battle is lost? Certainly he killed me fourteen nights in succession.”

I can’t help but think about how Morrissey must have felt when Johnny told him he wanted to leave The Smiths. People around him (Stephen Street, Grant Showbiz) thought he was going to kill himself and the fact that Johnny then went on holiday and never made contact with him must have alarmed him even more. He’d first thought the situation could be repaired, but by then he must’ve realised the end was upon them.

“He did the one sin which Love will not allow. […] He did sin against Love, and though he says it was in Pity’s name, and that Pity was only fighting a losing battle with Love, he was useless to Pity, and in wavering, injured Love, which was, after all, what he staked all for, all he had, ungamblable.”

From what I gather, he went back to his wife because he felt sorry for her and the protagonist can’t accept that because in her eyes their love was everything that mattered and everything they had.

Now: as I said before, I think Morrissey was inspired by this book because he saw himself in it. I think he must’ve found many similarities between the protagonist’s situation and his own, both of them in love with a married man who doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. Johnny and Angie split for a brief period in 1983, when The Smiths went on their first USA tour, and I’ve seen a few people speculate that if something physical happened between Morrissey and Johnny, it may very well have happened then. Morrissey may have taken advantage of the fact that Johnny was free and overcame his fears by making the first move. Or maybe, Johnny was the one who, once aware of Morrissey’s feelings for him, decided to take the bull by its horns. I don’t know. Nobody does. What I wonder is… once Johnny went back to Angie, how did Morrissey feel? Because I don’t think he was all that thrilled. Did he think he did it out of pity, like the protagonist of the book did? If something had happened between them on that tour, did he feel used? Did he feel mildly outraged? Did he resign himself to consider it a one-night stand and nothing more, even though his feelings for Johnny clearly went deeper than that? It’s also worth noticing how the references to this book start to spring up in his lyrics from Meat Is Murder onwards, that is, after that tour in 1983.

“How can I put love up to my hopes so suicidal and wild-eyed when the matter is too simple and too plain: it is her tears he feels trickling over his breast each night; it is for her he feels the concern; and the pity, after all, not the love, fills his twenty-four hours. Perhaps I am his hope. But then she is his present. And if then she is his present, I am not his present. Therefore, I am not, and I wonder why no one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me. […] For even if he loves me, he is in her arms. O the fact, the unalterable fact: it is she he is with: he is with her: he is not with me because he is sleeping with her.”

For me, this might be the most heartbreaking part of the book. The protagonist knows that no matter what she tells herself, when he’s done with her he comes home to his wife while she’s stuck in a hotel room in a country which is not her own.

That line, “I wonder why no one has noticed I am dead and taken the trouble to bury me”, also crops up right at the beginning of What She Said:

What she said: “How come someone hasn’t noticed that I’m dead And decided to bury me? God knows, I’m ready!”

Which makes me think Morrissey must have somehow related to this part. “He loves me, but he’s still with her.” “He has martyred me, but for no cause, nor has he any idea of the size and consequence of my wounds. Perhaps he will never know, for to say, You killed me daily and O most especially nightly, would imply blame. I do not blame, nor even say, You might have done this or this rather than that. I even say, You must do that, you have to do it, there is no alternative, urging my own murder. […] If ever again he lets those nights happen, or dallies with remorse for past sins to others while sinning most dangerously against me, I shall be unrevivable. I shall, whether I want to or not, be struck dead with the fact. And he may clothe it in all humanity’s most melting colours, and pity, and sympathy, and call on love to be kind, and I too shall pray, Let me be kind, but it will be no good.”

This entire thing reinforces my first thought, which is: Morrissey and Johnny at one point had a one-night stand (“It was a good lay, good lay...”), except for Morrissey there were much stronger feelings attached to it.

As hurt as she is, the protagonist doesn’t blame the man for going back to his wife and she even encourages him, because she recognises that, at the end of the day, it’s the best course of action for everyone involved. What she wishes wouldn’t happen again are those nights, coupled with him badmouthing her to others out of remorse for his own actions.

If we once again consider the queer factor in the relationship between Morrissey and Johnny, it wouldn’t surprise me if Morrissey followed the same reasoning when Johnny went back to Angie because, as much as Morrissey loved him, he wouldn’t be able to give him the stability of a straight relationship. (That isn’t to say Johnny didn’t love Angie, btw. I’m sure he loved her deeply and he still does, but I also think at the time some internal conflict was present because, on some level, he reciprocated Morrissey’s feelings.)

That last line, “… and call on love to be kind, and I too shall pray, Let me be kind” reminds me of I Know It’s Over:

It takes strength to be gentle and kind

This can be applied to many situations, but I feel like it becomes especially relevant in the context of the love of your life leaving you for someone else, who you also care about.

PART IX The protagonist goes back home to Canada and has to face the invasive questioning of neighbours who see her with a big belly but no wedding ring. After a while though, she realises she must see the man she loves and so she leaves to meet him once again.

“I am lonely. I cannot be a female saint. I want the one I want. He is the one I picked out from the world. I picked him out in cold deliberation. But the passion was not cold. It kindled me. It kindled the world. Love, love, give my heart ease, put your arms round me, give my heart ease. Feel the little bastard.”

- “I want the one I want.” → “I want the one I can’t have.” - “Put your arms round me.” → “All I ask of you is one thing that you never do / Would you put your arms around me? (I won’t tell anyone).” (Tomorrow)

PART X The final chapter opens with the line that gave the book its title: “By Grand Central Station I sat down and wept.” He didn’t come to collect her, so she has a breakdown right in the middle of the station. The ending is kind of confusing. It looks as if she resigns herself to go back to him just to have sex with him, and she tries to convince herself everything is fine, but it clearly isn’t.

Elizabeth Smart went back to George Barker time and time again, even though their relationship was dysfunctional to say the least and they were both very damaged, egotistical individuals. He cheated on her repeatedly but she loved him nonetheless, so I guess it would make sense for the book to end like this as well.

“They obey the glint in the middle of my glazed eye, for it is the fierce last stand of all I have.” → “Gasping - but somehow still alive / This is the fierce last stand of all I am.” (Well I Wonder)

“I wanted only one thing. I gave you the full instructions. The name, I spelt it out in letters as long as a continent, even the address, the address that makes waterfalls of my blood because it is also her address. I said quite plainly and loudly: This is what I want. I want this, and I don’t want any bonus. Just give me this and I’ll pay any price you ask. I made no reservations. You took advantage of this. I never grudged. But, Sir, so what I plead is just – what are you stalling for? There is no more to give.”

This entire paragraph reminds me of Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want.

“He hangs, damp with his impotent tears, nailed by one hand to Love and by the other one to Pity.”

This man is split between love and duty and can’t seem to be able to make a decision, with everyone suffering as a consequence, including him. That’s what the protagonist sees. What I see is a man who likes to have his ego stroked and doesn’t mind a bit of drama. It’s not that he’s unable to make a decision, he just doesn’t want to.

“Is it possible he cannot hear me when he lies so close, so lightly asleep? […] My dear, my darling, do you hear me when you sleep?”

These parts were clearly used by Morrissey as inspiration for the lyrics of Well I Wonder (which, like What She Said, was based almost entirely on this book – I even think they were written back to back.)

Well I wonder Do you hear me when you sleep?

“This is the very room he chose instead of Love. Let it be quiet and full of healing. […] It is the cursed comfort he preferred to my breast. The one who shares it weeps silently in corners, is tender unnoticed, and makes his necessary tea. ‘Have you seen my notebook, dear?’ ‘It is under the desk, my sweet.’ Give it to him, O my gentle usurper, whom I also have usurped, my enemy whom I have both killed and been killed by. […] He also is drowning in the blood of too much sacrifice. Lay aside the weapons, love, for all battles are lost.”

At last he’s made his choice and if we’ve learned something from history it’s that a man’s comfort will always be more important than a woman’s safety and peace of mind.

FINAL COMMENTS As I said before, one of the reasons I think Morrissey was inspired by this book is that he found its story to be relatable, but it’s not just that. The language, as you may have noticed by reading some of its quotes, is quite poetic, abstract and melodramatic, with a major focus on introspection and an underlying sense of pervasive melancholy. This is an artistic quality that both Morrissey and Johnny had in common, even though they expressed it differently: one through his lyrics, the other through his sound. Ultimately, I think Morrissey found By Grand Central Station… very useful creatively and personally. Creatively because it gave him the inspiration to write some of his best songs (also, here’s a reminder that both Moz and Johnny declared Well I Wonder as one of their favourite Smiths’ songs at some point), and personally because it provided him with an outlet to confront his feelings for Johnny, which I think must have been quite tumultuous. With a shortage of LGBT media which was even more prevalent in the 80s, queer people often had to read between the lines of straight stories to find something to relate to, and I feel like that’s what Morrissey did. Personally, after reading it I found myself surprised by the superficiality with which most people (biographers, reviewers etc.) talked about its role in Morrissey’s lyrics, because clearly there’s so much more to it than stealing a line here and there. It’s also about him feeling invested in a story because it spoke to him and it represented him, at least partially, in an era when anyone who didn’t fit in with society’s standards of what it meant to be a man or a woman might as well not have existed at all.

#the smiths #morrissey #johnny marr #marrissey #by grand central station i sat down and wept #elizabeth smart

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shewhowantsmouseears · 6 years

Text

The Son Of Scheherazade, 18

Notes: As always, big thanks to my editors Drucilla and BlueShifted!

Apparently I got some of your hopes up and made you think the Imp was going to be Stitch... sorry folks! The Imp here is actually from the Disney comics, otherwise known as the Imp from the 11th Dimension. Though he only appeared in two stories (as far as I know), I thought he'd be a pretty interesting character to use.

Also, originally the big confrontation with the Imp was going to be only with Mickey, but I decided it's Minnie's time to shine.

Summary: Mickey tries to use old tactics on a new foe, but it turns out not everyone can be won over through acts of kindness. Can they stop the Imp, and what's happened to Clarabelle?

This had all the makings of one of Sultana Scheherazade's classic stories : a ragtag group of heroes and heroines, a piece of a map to a lost kingdom, and an evil entity unleashed after centuries of imprisonment. Except, Mickey thought, if this was one of mother's stories, the freed Imp would've looked...

… Taller.

After a few hacks and coughs, the once intimidating voice then squeaked, “Fi-na-lly!”, as the smog began to clear. “I'm free, I'm free, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop me!” This might've sounded threatening if it hadn't come from a creature that was even smaller than Minnie – though it was a guess, seeing as he was freely hovering in the air. “You'll never get me inside that smelly jar again!” None of the statues or costumes had gotten his appearance correct, save for the gigantic ears on the sides of his head. There were no fangs or blood-red eyes – thinning black hair poked out from a whimsically pointy blue and red hat, with his outfit the same colors as if he were some children's interpretation of a court jester. Had he not popped out of the jar, many could have easily assumed this was a child, especially with his one solid tooth sticking out at the top of his lip.

Just to be sure, Mickey glanced back at Pleakly and Jumba. “Um... this is the Imp?”

“I think we might need to do some re-rebranding,” Pleakly replied with clear disappointment, though he wasn't letting go of Jumba anytime soon.

“I am removing self from family tree, starting now.” Jumba dropped Pleakly like a sack of hot potatoes.

“Now then!” The Imp clapped his hands together, his beady eyes scanning the room. “I take it you've used all these years to finally get me a proper playmate?”

Horace began to back up. “Oooh, I don't like where this is going.”

Mickey looked up at the Imp, and decided this was the perfect time to put his new attitude on display. “Why, if you want to play, we'll all play with you!” he chirped pleasantly. Perhaps all this time had made the Imp rethink things, and all he wanted now was someone to understand him. No anger, no negativity, just positive thinking! “My name is Mickey, and these are all my friends!” He gestured to the crew, who nervously waved hello.

The Imp cupped his chin with his hand, making a long “hmmm”-ing noise. “You think you guys are worthy enough to be my playmates? I won't just have anyone, after all. I need people who can keep up with me and who will have fun with me. When I was created, absolutely no one liked my idea of fun. They never wanted to play any of my games.”

“I love a good game!” Mickey replied with sheer enthusiasm. “Come on, what do you want to play?”

The Imp surveyed Mickey up and down, and then bounced in the air until he was right in front of Mickey's nose. “All right! I thought of a really fun one while I was stuck in that stupid jar... Lions or Tigers?”

Mickey blinked, as he'd never heard of any game called that. “Uh, let's see...Tigers?” He did like those cool-looking stripes.

“Tigers it is!” That's when the Imp snapped his fingers, and in a familiar-looking puff of pink smoke, four feral tigers suddenly materialized on the floor, snarling and starving. “Now it's their turn! Okay boys, meat or veggies?” The tigers roared unanimously before leaping off in different directions, trying to turn the audience into prey. The crowd screamed in terror, running for their lives and knocking over various expensive displays.

Goofy only had his trousers and his quick thinking. “Daisy, get the people outside! Horace, Panchito, Jose, Donald, round up the kitty-cats!” Hitching his boxers up, he ran for the closest tiger that was trying to corner some frightened children, jumped on its back, and began to wrestle it away, which would have looked brave and heroic if he wasn't as thin as a pipe cleaner. The others ran to follow his commands, with Panchito's guns out and ready, Jose lighting up the tip of his umbrella, Horace pumping his fists and Donald summoning lightning through his fingers.

Minnie kept her back to Mickey, trying to find where the lid had dropped, while Mickey himself was stunned. “What are you doing?!” he demanded of the Imp, anger beginning to seep through.

“I'm playing, of course,” the Imp said with a shrug. “Oh, don't tell me you're one of those boring types that cares whether people live or die. That's not fun at all!”

“You can't go around hurting people just for your entertainment!” Mickey shouted, feeling heat in his face, and knowing it was a sign of things to come. He could feel his entire body clenching up in an attempt to stop his anger, even though a tiny part of him kept trying to say it was justifiable. Minnie continuously cleared her throat, trying to jar in some common sense without saying a word, but she went ignored. “You're not that heartless!”

“Sure I am.” the Imp willed himself up a few white balls to juggle, and Mickey was not entirely sure they weren't small skulls.

“I know you might think you are,” Mickey tried a different angle, remembering how he had saved Donald and Minnie in his own way, “But no matter what anyone has told you, it's not true. You can change, if you want to! Deep down, everyone just wants someone to be with, and you don't have to be cruel to find them. If you look inside yourself, you'll see, you're not heartless!”

“Buddy, I'm literally heartless.” The Imp stuck his hands within his chest, opening it like a cabinet door to reveal only a dark, swirling vortex inside. “No heart, no soul. If I may say, it's one of the few things my creator got right about me, even if it was a big mistake.” He then slammed the “door” shut, dusting his hands off. “Speaking of big mistakes, you're not seriously thinking you can harm me with that little knife you've got there, do you?”

Actually Mickey hadn't brought his sword out of its scabbard yet – he had been reluctant to touch it ever since he fought the Glooms. He was still reluctant to use it now, and tried not to look at it, tried not to think about the anger that was bubbling underneath his voice. “We don't have to fight, we... we can work this out! We can find a fun game for you that doesn't involve anyone in danger! Just give me a chance!”

The Imp rolled his head around his shoulders, beginning to giggle. “Okaaay... what are the chances you won't die if you were covered in lava?”

“What?” But after the Imp snapped his fingers, Mickey understood what the Imp meant, as a splatter of hot liquid fell from the ceiling and melted the stone floor in front of him. Looking up revealed that all the fancy chandeliers were now hosting miniature volcanoes instead of candles, each one beginning to explode and erupt. He had only seconds to run before he was under a waterfall of lava, ducking and rolling and trying to find a safe spot to hide. Minnie split in the opposite direction, scrambling to stay alive and gather both the jar and lid.

The Imp cackled, clapping his hands merrily. “Oh, you're all much better sports this time around! And I've got so many new ideas for games, so my fun can last for all eternity!” He snapped and pointed in all directions, continuing to give the crew more obstacles, such as the stained glass windows shattering, the carpets turning into marbles, and the potted plants now becoming flesh-eating Venus fly traps. Watching the men struggle just to stay alive was pleasure beyond measure, and he became so distracted by it that he almost didn't notice Minnie coming up behind him with the jar and lid.

Keyword here being “almost”. The Imp spotted her shadow on the floor, and whirled around fast enough to knock the lid out of her hand. “Ah-ah-ah! Nice try there, missy, but I'm never going back in there again!” He lifted his hand to cast another spell, but stopped, as if noticing something. His eyes flew up and down, and then, amused, he said, “You're one of the originals! An actual genie!”

For the first time all day, Minnie found her voice, and she swallowed hard, holding the old jar to her chest. “How did you know?”

“How do you think?” The Imp laughed, and then floated upside-down, tsking. “I kind of pity you, being bound by all those silly rules, plus the whole heart and soul thing... Of course, that couldn't be helped, given how you were created.” He then cocked his head, “Do you remember how you were created?” The giddiness in his tone indicated he already knew the answer.

Minnie went silent for a moment, hearing nothing but her own heartbeat. There were flashes in her mind, of a time long ago that she struggled to remember. But the pain, oh the pain, she remembered that all too well – she didn't want to remember. There was something dreadful and horrible in his question and implications. She only knew of her time with her masters and their cruelty, not her origins. But – but surely there had to be a beginning to it, so why couldn't she remember it? Was she created in the same way the Imp was?

The Imp – this mischievous, heartless creature that was enjoying her suffering – she would only be satisfying him by giving into her fears now. There was a time to question her life, but it sure wasn't now. Not when her friends were in danger, with Mickey hiding under a wooden desk, his last refuge before the lava burned it away – who still wouldn't wish for anything, lest it cause her pain. “You... you...” Her heart beat faster, wilder, and she wouldn't allow herself to be a useless damsel in distress. “You're not even a real Imp, I bet!”

The Imp stopped where he was, his crooked smile now disjointed, eyes bulging. “Excuse me?”

“I said, you're not even a real Imp.” It was a risky plan, but if it worked out... “You think you're so great and powerful, but you got trapped in some jar?” She then let out a fake laugh, turning her head away. “At least I can go in and out of my lamp whenever I want. You know what? I bet you've just been hiding away all this time because you know you're a big phony.”

“PHONY?!” The Imp screamed, now right-side-up, veins popping up all over his small face. “I am the all-powerful Imp! I have no rules, I have no limits! I can do anything I want! There's nothing I can't do! Just watch!” With a snap of his fingers, the brick walls suddenly flowed away like pushed curtains, revealing the outside world. “See?”

Minnie pretended to inspect her nails. “Is that all? I can do that. I bet you can't send all the people in the village back to their homes.”

“Of course I can do that!” The Imp hopped up and down in the air, his tantrum getting worse. “Just watch!” Another snap, and each of the frightened people vanished, now safe and confused back in their houses all over the world. “See? See? Look how amazing I am!”

“Child's play.” Minnie yawned, including boredom in her act. “I've sent send hundreds of people anywhere for my masters before. I bet you can't turn those man-eating tigers into harmless kittens.”

“Yes I can!” And again, with a snap of his fingers, the Imp displayed his magic – the tigers that had been about to gnaw on Donald's backside were now fluffy orange kittens batting at his loose feathers. “Without even breaking a sweat!”

“Oh, dear, is that really all you can do?” Minnie scoffed, making sure to pick up the lid when the Imp wasn't looking. “My last Master had me transforms animals all the time, I could do it in my sleep.” She then sighed wistfully, “I don't know, maybe if you could transform yourself, I'd think you were something special...”

“I can transform myself into anything and anyone!” To prove it, the Imp began to shapeshift several times – a towering Minotaur, a giant hissing spider, and a multi-headed hydra before poofing back to his original shape. “There is nothing I can't do!”

This was the point of the plan that any outsider who could hear Minnie knew what would happen – she'd ask him to transform into something very small, then capture him, and the day would be saved. Unfortunately, Mickey was far enough away that he didn't hear the plan at all, and all he saw was the Imp displaying his phenomenal powers to the girl he cared for. All his stored anger slammed into his body with the force of a typhoon, mixed in with what had caused it the last time – fear of losing Minnie.

Holding back his anger hadn't controlled it at all, only stored it away for a worse explosion. But one never realizes how truly furious they are when they are in its deepest depths – all he could think of was making sure the Imp didn't hurt Minnie, if he so much as thought of laying a hand on her, not after all she'd been through, not after what Mickey put her through, and he was up and his scimitar was out and he was running and - “DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!”

Both enchanted creatures stopped in place, startled as Mickey ran forward, ready to plunge his sword right into the Imp, but of course the Imp knew well enough to poof himself away from the danger – which left Mickey mere seconds to stop before he'd plunge his sword right into Minnie. He yelped, and his feet skidded, and he fell forward, landing on top of her feet. He scrambled to get to his knees, shaking at how easily he'd fallen into rage again. “Minnie – Minnie I'm – I'm so sorry-” he stammered, and Minnie had that look again – that look of fear, of him.

“That was a close one!” The Imp reappeared atop the melting chandelier, wiping a bead of panicked sweat from his brow. “If I had fallen for that, I never would have forgiven myself.” The rest of the crew began to gather together, Donald trying to see if Daisy was all right, Panchito pulling Jose away from a dangerous spill of lava, and nearly-naked Goofy with completely-clothed Horace having pummeled and punished the plants.

“Fallen?” Mickey stared at the Imp, and then jumped up on his feet, guilt and horror weighing on his chest. “Minnie? I thought... I didn't... I'm sorry, I thought he was-”

“I was so close, Master!” Minnie suddenly shrieked at him, perhaps the first time she'd raised her voice at him in ages, - if ever? - even if the fear in her eyes wasn't gone. She was still afraid of him on some level, but fear was now just in the way. “I almost had him! Why didn't you just trust me?”

“I'm – I'm sorry! I'm really sorry!”

“Saying sorry isn't good enough!” For this, for that, for all he'd done, Minnie had taken her voice back and couldn't stop using it, shoving the jar into Mickey's hands. She had so many masters apologize after breaking their promises to her, and what good had those futile words been? What good was it when Mickey had nearly murdered Grimwold? “You have to do better! You have to be better! You can't just ignore everything around you and hope it turns out okay! If you want to help us, help your parents, help me, then work with me! Talk to me! Listen to me! If you really want to wish me to be a real person, then start treating me like one!”

Mickey's mouth hung open like a gaping fish. As a prince, and son to someone so beloved and famous, he'd been treated almost like a god his entire life. Save for once murderous attempt on his life, no one had ever actually yelled at him before. He wasn't quite sure what to think. He almost kind of liked it. He wished he had a moment to process it.

Not that the Imp was going to give him one. “You remember I'm still here, right?” He didn't like being ignored.

“YOU SHUT UP!” Minnie snapped, turning to the Imp, her own anger loud instead of violent like Mickey's. “Do you have any idea what it's like to be treated as if you're a child when you're actually hundreds of years old? If I don't know something, it's because people haven't told me, not because I don't understand it! So how am I supposed to help anyone if they don't tell me what's wrong?” She hadn't even known she'd been bottling so much inside and had no idea how to make it stop. “I have a heart, and a mind, and a voice, and I'm not going to let anyone stop me from using them, including myself! So buzz off, you wretched creature!”

The Imp clicked his tongue to his big tooth. “So, you don't care for me? That's fine... How about if you find the other me's more appealing?” With a much louder snap of his fingers, the ground began to rumble, and there were several destructive roars echoing outside of the building. Through the open “window” the Imp had created, the crew could now see that the Imp had brought all of the statues to life, each one mindless and violent, ripping up poles from the ground, smashing their fists through walls, and chasing after the citizens of Muhtal.

Minnie's fiery spirit was extinguished. “I... probably shouldn't have yelled at the all-powerful chaotic monster.”

“Probably not,” Mickey agreed. But there was no time for any debate, as one of the bellowing creatures with especially big teeth was heading right for them. Mickey grabbed Minnie by the wrist and began to run outside with the rest of the crew in tow, although he had no idea where any safe space would be. With every turn of his head, he could see another part of the amusement park being twisted by the Imp's machinations – the twirling cups were now spinning out of control, rolling on the ground like deadly tops. The caramel for the sweets was now overflowing and threatening to drown anyone who came close. The dapper choir-men were now being trapped in colorful prison bars from their own uniform. Goofy and the crew struggled to save as many of the park employees as they could, but it was becoming obvious they'd need just as much help saving themselves.

It wasn't long before Daisy became covered in caramel, with Donald unable to reach her as he'd been trapped by the bizarre rainbow prison. Jose and Panchito tried to rescue an employee that was stuck up in a coconut tree, which became difficult when the coconuts became carnivorous and hungry for fingers. Goofy grabbed a mouse in each hand, trying to carry them under his arms before the former statues wanted to take their current lives, and Horace was in for a ride trying to stop the cup rides.

The Imp watched all of this unfold, and then yawned, one hand over his mouth. “And here I thought you guys might be different... What a let-down! I'm going to keep searching for a proper playmate. Toodles!” He hopped along in the air, leaving the park behind, a whistle on his lips.

Horace managed to punch one of the spinning cups fast enough to chip it, but not enough to entirely stop it. “Aw, I'm only half as strong without Clarabelle here!” He groaned, shaking his sore fist. “Where is that woman?!”

~*~

Of course, Clarabelle had no idea what kind of trouble her makeshift family had gotten into. Had she known, she would have easily gotten over her tantrum and rushed into battle. But as it was, she was grumbling and pouting out in the desert terrain, still bitter about how she'd been treated. “They don't appreciate me, that's the problem,” she said to no one, walking on the sand, arms crossed. “Horace, he's never appreciated me, not one bit! And after all we've been through together, he says those things to me! Why, he's the one who fought so hard to make me love him when I was ga-ga for Goofy. What am I now, used goods?” The more she ranted, the more she raved, the worse she felt, like a cycle of sourness. If she could use find a proper way to vent it out, maybe she could go back to the ship, but if she was alone, she couldn't yell at anyone, nor give them a good beat-down.

She got her wish in the worst way. The Imp hovered through the sky, pondering where to go for his next round of fun when he spotted the lone woman muttering to herself in the sand. He smirked, seeing her more as a sitting duck than a walking cow. “Poor dear, she's missed all the good times at Imp-ny world... why don't I give her a rockin' good time?” A snap, and the boulders high atop the hills began to wiggle, then roll, then fly right off the cliff sides, aiming right at Clarabelle. The Imp sat atop a dusty dead tree, munching on popcorn he wished himself up.

But she heard the noise, and when she looked up and saw a very unusual landslide, she wasn't afraid at all. “Finally!” She cheered out loud, knocking her fists together. “Maybe someone's looking out for me after all!” She took three steps back, and just as the first boulder was about to smash her into smithereens, she lashed out her leg, shattering it into hundreds of pieces. The Imp stopped mid-chew, a few kernels falling out of his mouth. Clarabelle let out a wild laugh, and then twisted her hips, launching another hard kick at the next rock, this one splitting into smaller pieces. She then charged forward, grabbing the next obstacle and heaving herself up in the air, kicking up hard, then flipping over onto the next rock, each move leading into another – she'd stand on her hands and launch attack after attack with her feet, she'd backflip and strike a powerful blow as she landed, sweat dripping from her body, her long ponytail fluttering behind her like a majestic cape. All the while she smiled, smiled, smiled, a pretty smile for a woman full of confidence.

It's a good thing that the Imp technically didn't need to breathe because he surely would've choked by now. Though he'd only been free for a short time, both during his birth and here in the present, he'd never seen anyone with such fantastic power, and such fantastic beauty. When did they start making women like this?! That serene smile, the one he'd made – she was actually enjoying what he'd done! Had he found what he desired since his creation – had he finally found his perfect playmate? Oh, no, no, she was much more than that!

Clarabelle bounced from one heel to the other, back and forth, her anger now completely gone. “Ooooh, I feel so much better! Why, I bet I could go another few rounds! C'mooon, c'mooon, bring it on! Heeheeheehee~!” A smaller boulder came rolling down, and she easily launched it back up into the air with one kick, her cowbell clattering against her chest.

“That... was... AMAZING!”

Clarabelle stopped her victory dance, having not expected company. When she turned around, the Imp was hovering below her, his eyes shining, hands clasped together. “You're the most perfect woman who has ever existed! You have no idea how long I've waited for someone like you to appear! It can only be you!”

She blinked a few times, eyebrow raised. What was this little boy doing out here all by his lonesome? Sure, he was floating, but after all the adventures and weirdness she'd seen as part of Goofy's crew, this was barely a blip on the radar. “Aw, honey, you shouldn't be out here!” she kindly chided, lightly patting him on his head. “Why don't we find your mommy and daddy and get you-”

BONK!

Clarabelle was a powerful warrior, this is true, but when it came to brains, she tended to come last. For example, not realizing that all that comes up tends to come down. This resulted in the rock she kicked up now landing hard on her head, knocking her out instantly, her body flopping onto the sand, her tongue lolled out ridiculously. There was definitely going to be a bump on her noggin.

The Imp looked down at the unconscious cow, and he grinned maliciously, rubbing his small hands together. “Who needs a perfect playmate... when I can have the perfect bride?”

#disney #fanfic #the son of scheherazade #mickey mouse #minnie mouse

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theliterateape · 3 years

Text

Half Pant Final

by Paul Teodo & Tom Myers

He was 7 feet tall, wearing yellow flowered shorts that stopped an inch above his deeply scarred right knee. Muscular calves supported long legs that ended in crooked toes sprouting from lime green sandals. The image of a blues man wailing on his Stratocaster was silk-screened in silver on his black tee shirt. “Buddy Guy” in script identified the artist.

“You play ball?” I didn’t know what else to say.

“Turkey,” he said, straightening his black cowboy hat, “Slim” embroidered along the left side, silver coins embedded in its red satin band. There was nothing slim about him. He wasn’t a seven-foot bean pole. He was a muscular seven-footer with a well-manicured salt-and-pepper goatee.

“Turkey?”

“Yeah, they have a league. They needed a ‘big.’ I dabbled.”

I’d heard of pro basketball in Spain, Italy, Israel, even Australia, but not Turkey. “Well, that’s not what we’re here for. Thanks for coming.”

He kept looking out the window as if someone was out to get him. “Ra said you were okay.”

“Ra?”

“Raheem.”

“Our cook?”

“Yeah, we ball together, over on Madison, 24-hour gym, just down from the stadium. He vouched for you.” He glanced out the window again.

I resisted the urge to follow his stare.

“When do you have time? You’re already at three hospitals, Lourdes, Nicoletta, Pious, and you ball?”

“Sleep’s overrated. You only die once. Like I said, that’s why I came. Ra, he said you were okay. Said you were open,” he chuckled, “to a little different, and I can be different.”

Yeah, I thought, he was different. “Glad I got a good recommendation.”

“So what do you need?”

“I’ll be straight with you. We got a problem. Our orthos think they own the place.”

He looked back at me. “I’ve heard. You got Vince who thinks he’s the Don of the hospital and should get paid juice.” I cringed at his bluntness. “Schweingart, the Nazi, is flat-out scary, and Seamus can’t stay sober, and came close to killing a guy last month in the OR.” He looked out the window again. “Yeah, you got problems.”

How’d he know about all that shit? Were we that infamous? And what the hell was out the window? “How’d you hear about all that?”

He smiled, towering over me like I was a child. My chin, maybe, came up to his waist. “C’mon.” He clapped his hands shut; the slap of his palms, like a bullet, echoed off my office walls. “People talk, and they tell others not to talk, which makes them talk even more.” He studied his hand as if he was examining a wound. Empty. He shook his head with disappointment. “I used to be better.”

He folded himself like a wounded crane into a chair, making it, and my desk look miniature next to his out-sized frame.

I scanned his CV. It smelled like cigarettes, coffee stains obliterated most of his references. “Guadalajara Medical School?”

“I like the sun.”

“What else do you like?”

He shifted, struggling to find his “spot” in a human-sized seat. “Mexicans, they’re so laid back, and their cuisine.”

“And?”

“I quit. I don’t do that stuff anymore.” He tapped his chest. “Bad for the lungs….” He wrenched his neck with a giant hand, Big-foot came to mind, looking around the room trying to figure out a way of answering me without sounding stupid. A bone somewhere inside cracked, exploding like a firecracker, making me jump.

“Jesus,” I said, letting him off the hook for a second.

“C-4. I took a charge from a kid from Kenya. Fractured my spine.”

“You quit…you were saying.”

“Yeah. I mean I got into Michigan, Rush, Hopkins, but I wanted sun, and chill. So ‘Mexico, here I come.’”

“That’s when it started?”

“Naw, in high school, but I stopped when I got to Mexico.”

“Get busted?”

“No way.” He said like he was proud of himself. “I had a vision.”

“Totally done with it?”

“Yep, twelve years. She stays on me.”

“She?”

“My wife.”

“What she do?”

“Sex therapist.”

The conversation was making me feel like I was the only old maid in a popcorn machine.

“You have a colorful life.”

“I get interested in everything really easy, and I get bored even easier. So I bounce around.”

“You think you can handle it here?”

“I can adapt to just about anything, and because of how I am,” he smiled and waved his hand over his Goliath-sized frame, his flowered shorts, his skin-tight Buddy Guy tee, and his silver-studded, red-sash hat, “I’m used to taking a little shit.”

I imagined it wasn’t too much shit, given his imposing stature. “I can’t have you giving it back. These guys are vicious. I need to run a hospital.”

“You like Mexican?”

Back into the popcorn machine. I tried to keep the conversation going. “Good people. A big part of our patient base. A bit shy for me. But terribly discriminated against.”

“I mean food.”

“Food?”

“Yeah, tamales, tacos, empanadas, and horchata, my favorite drink. Saved my ass when I got off the stuff.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated.

“Why are you interested in my palate?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s eat. If I’m gonna get my ass grilled, it might as well be where the grilling isn’t just my ass.”

“I gotta check my schedule.” I hate Mexican food.

“Screw your schedule. I’ll drive.”

More bones cracked as he uncoiled from the chair, sending shivers up my spine, “Jesus.” He straightened his right leg, massaging it with the longest fingers I’d ever seen.

“IT band. Tighter than a freakin’ bungee cord. It’s all connected.”

“Kenyan kid?”

“Yep, a nice kid. Coulda played in the NBA . But he broke my freakin’ back. He got me into medicine. I owe him. Killed a lion with his bare hands. He could really play ball. His family didn’t want him to leave. He’s in line to be a chief or something.”

“Who coulda played in the NBA?”

He paused, his eyes darting out the window again. “Both of us. Let’s go eat.”

“You’re something. What’s with the window?”

He shrugged. “We keep in touch. I told you I like different. Let’s go.”

We walked to the door. “Sasha. Dr. Vuckovich and I are going to lunch. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Make it two,” he said, removing his hat, revealing a polished skull, wiping beads of sweat from his extremely broad forehead.

Sasha gave me a disgruntled look, then a disapproving grunt, acting as if she was writing something distasteful on a piece of yellow paper to show to all of her friends.

“We’re getting Mexican. Can I bring you back something?”

“You hate Mexican.”

So much for my diplomacy with Dr. V.

He smiled, grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. “Let’s go. You’ll like this, Boss. I parked in front.” I stumbled to keep up. His gait was about 142 feet longer than mine. “Hope I didn’t bend the rules too much.” He turned, giving me a shit-eating smile.

I was now his boss? Were we making progress? Who the hell could figure?

Just to the left of the front entrance, taking up two spots, one a handicap space, sat a vehicle that should have been repossessed by a chop-shop on 63rd Street. He waved his hand at this long black piece of metal, bowing as if he was introducing royalty. “Meet Miss Koko.”

“Koko?” I asked, trying to hide my displeasure at both his cavalier attitude toward our parking regulations and being carted off to a Mexican lunch in this ridiculous piece of shit.

“Yep, Koko Taylor,” he said proudly. “Best blues singer this city’s ever had.”

“You named your car after a blues singer?”

“Better than Impala or Bonneville, or Arthur.” His voice rose, echoing off our one-hundred year-old building. “C’mon, all bullshit names.”

I popped open the door. “It’s a fucking hearse.”

A huge grin spread across his face. “Not anymore. I had a patient trick it out for me. I did his shoulder. Put him back to work. He was broke. No insurance. He got what he wanted and so did I.” He opened the door threw his hat into the back seat. “It’s more like a cargo van.”

“You really drive this?”

“Yep, everywhere, and check this out” Despite his size he slid in effortlessly, and arched his back against the black velvet front seat. His legs stretched under the dash deep into what would normally be the engine compartment. He wiggled his snake-like toes and smiled, and let out a satisfied groan.” Leg room. A shit-load of leg room!”

I looked into his back seat, sliding in, imagining all the dead bodies that had rested there. I noticed what appeared to be a neck of a guitar peeking out from a Navajo blanket. Across the top, embossed in gold on shiny black wood was the word Gibson. “A guitar?” I nodded to the back seat.

“For my band,” he said, popping a mint into his mouth. “Want one?”

“Band?”

“Well, not really mine, we got a gig tonight. Wanna come? I’ll comp you.”

The popcorn kept exploding all around me, and I was still the old maid.

“Gig? Where?”

“Let’s go.” He slammed Koko into gear, kicked it in the ass, and sped out of the parking lot.

“Sure.” Why the hell not?

“Great! Rosa’s. Armitage, near Western.” He leaned over, not slowing one bit, his shoulder jammed into my chest, ripped open the glove compartment and the pulled a ticket from the box.

He handed it to me then slammed on his brakes, and screamed. “Asshole!”

Dr. V. was able to hand me my comped ticket for his gig and avoid crushing a neon blue Prius at the same time.

“That was close,” I said looking down at the ticket.

“Naw, I’m a defensive driver.”

I wanted to tell him he was an offensive driver but I bit my tongue. I looked back at the ticket. It read: Chicago Blues Pussyhounds, Featuring Dr. Slim. Slim? from his hat.

“Provocative name.”

“Gets people’s attention. Layla thought of it.”

“Layla?”

“My wife.”

The sex therapist. Jesus.

It was like I was in a movie. And I was having a helluva time keeping up. Vuckovich’s Most Excellent Adventure.

“Relax,” he ordered, and flipped on the stereo, multiple pulsing speakers rattled my bones. A soulful woman’s voice rose over it all. He pointed in the air, bobbing his head to the beat of the thumping music. “Koko! Let’s go! I got a hip at Pious at 3!”

“Any bodies back there?” I asked, looking at the cavernous area behind us.

“I keep ‘em alive,” he smiled and popped another mint. “I don’t kill ‘em like your boys.”

He’d heard that too? Shit.

***

“He wears half pant.”

Dev Balakrishnan, unlike Igor Vuckovich, was nowhere near seven feet tall. In fact, he barely cleared five feet. I didn’t think he’d fall in love with Dr. V, but I thought he’d at least give him a chance.

“He’s got great experience.” I was grasping.

“And auto is for dead people.”

Shit, he’d seen Koko.

“Dr. Balakrishnan,” I butchered his name every time I tried to say it.

“B,” he said “call me B. I’d rather hear you say B than you pronounce name like a contagious disease.”

I peered into the conference room where B had been interrogating V who now sat alone upright and uncomfortable, in a wooden chair, drumming his hands on the table, head bobbing up and down, probably grooving to Koko or Buddy. I indulged myself for a moment, imagining their interview, popcorn exploding all over the room.

“Why do you wear half pant?”

“Half pant?”

“Yes. And your car is for dead people. And toes should not be seen.”

“Ever listen to Koko Taylor, Doc? I think you’d dig her.”

I would have bought a ticket to that show.

“We’re dying here,” I said to B. “With only three orthos, and they run the department like gangsters.”

“The man would not fit here.” He pointed to Dr. V, now standing, rocking out on his air guitar. “He is too much, how you say, eccentric. Plus, training is bad. Mexico.”

“And Vince and his boys do fit? Schweingart got his training in the Caribbean at a pop-up school that closed right after he graduated.”

“They do not wear half pant or drive car for dead people.”

“I’ll bring it to the Board.” I lowered my voice trying to make him think.

Dr. B winced. “Board is for major issues.”

“This is a major issue. They’re killing us. They’re all trying to squeeze us, and we got nothing left.”

“I do not know this squeeze.”

B was dumb like a fox. He knew what those guys were. He did it once in a while too, but overall he was a good guy. He played fair and was a good surgeon. He took who came in the door and didn’t try to bullshit his way out of treating people who had no dough. Vince and his crew were different. No money or insurance? Then it was… Too big a case. We don’t have a bed. We’re short staffed. No supplies. Too much a risk. So ship ‘em out to someplace else. The County was always their fallback. If they could pay, then Vince and his boys would roll out the red carpet. What they did was plain wrong, a royal pain in the ass, and illegal. If Medicare pays your hospital and doctors, you have to care for those who can’t pay. And while docs were making lame excuses not to treat a banged up guy laid out in the mangled and broken, the entire place would back up like the traffic on the Jane Byrne or worse yet, the Hillside Fucking Strangler. Bullshit, and we were all tired of it.

“Doc, you know what I’m talking about. You accepted the position of President of the Medical Staff” and its stipend, I implied. “It’s time for you to man up.”

Pondering what he should do, he studied me with puffy eyes and labored breath, looked to Dr. V, still grooving to his tunes. He rubbed his disheveled hair. “Temporary,” he said, clearing his phlegmy throat. “We will give him temporary opportunity. Vince going to vacation home in Florida for February month. He can take his call. Ten days.”

“Temporary…” I began…but stopped. B could tell I was ready to fight, so I countered with silence.

“But,” he pointed at me, “no Board. We will work this out man to man.”

So, what direction should I go? Eat the entire enchilada, I hate Mexican, or take it one bite at a time? “I’m not sure Dr. V would go for that. Would you?”

“He will agree.”

“How do you know?”

B looked at me. A wry smile peeked out from under his scruff. “He already told me he would.”

***

“A John Doe.”

“Who’s on call?”

Shaneese, our ER traffic cop, paused. “Vince,” she said, her voice low, filled with disdain. “He won’t take it. You know that.”

We paid the asshole a grand for every call he took. But she was right. He’d hem and haw and make everybody sit on their hands, listening to his excuses.

I could see her standing in the ER, hand on hip, head tilted, staring at the ceiling, waiting for my response, judging the shit out of me.

“John Doe?” I asked, as if I hadn’t heard her, trying to buy time.

She did not respond. She let me dangle.

“What’s the damage?”

“He was thrown off a roof.” Her voice flat. “Multiple cervical fractures.”

“Jesus.”

“People are animals.”

“How many?”

“I stopped counting at C-5,” she said, growing more impatient.

“Stable?” Stupid question.

Her voice rising. “Stable? At least three of his seven vertebrae are busted. His spinal cord probably sprung a leak. He’s NOT stable. He’s going to die. He needs surgery now!”

“Call Vince. Tell him what you got and let me know what he says.”

I could feel her scorn as she hung up. And I deserved it. I’d let this shit go on too long.

Fuck. I grabbed my phone and called the front desk.

“Hello.”

“Shanda could you get me Dr. Endrizzi?”

“He don’t like me to call him. He only likes to talk to medical folks.”

“What’s his number?”

“Office or cell?”

“Cell.”

“312-665-3987. Good luck.”

***

“Hello.” His voice thick, filled with the hills of northern Italy.

“Vince, it’s Jim. We got a situation in the ER.”

“The John Doe with the spine?”

He’d heard already. “Yeah.”

“Too complex for us.”

“You’ve done them before.”

“Not too complex for me, but your staff isn’t qualified.” He hung up.

Sonofabitch. That arrogant prick. Isn’t qualified? Our staff was good, real good, and brave as shit. I redialed. “This is Dr. Endrizzi, I cannot take a call. I’m gone in February with important Medical Business. If you have big problem, call 911, or go to Hospital Emergency. They take care of you.”

Important Medical Business, my ass.

I yanked open my office door and headed to the OR.

I swiped my card and the panels slid open. I asked the OR Receptionist Denelle, “is Dr. Balakrishnan in there?” I pointed to suite #1, where we configured the surgical table and the lighting for a man of his small stature.

“He’s got a TURP,” she said, without looking up from her desk.

“How long before he’s done?”

“Depends on the size of the prostate.” She smiled.

I wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “I’ll wait.”

“Put this on.” She handed me a package of scrubs.

In the middle of my rage I struggled to yank on the gown, booties, gloves, and mask. She pointed to a chair in the corner of the room. I sat dressed in my surgery get-up like a child waiting to be punished by Mother Superior.

Denelle picked up the phone and tapped numbers with her pencil. “This is Denelle,” she said, “Tell Dr. B the boss is here for him.”

I stared at the thin red second hand on the wall-mounted clock, swooshing around the face in slow motion, my leg jumpy, like a junkie, full of rage. Important Medical Business, my ass. Your staff aren’t qualified. Fuck him.

The surgical suite door slid open. The tiny man waddled toward me, his disheveled hair peeking out from under his blue cap. He unpeeled his bloody gloves, the rubber making a snapping sound. He sighed and shook his head. “Big case.” His voice tired, never looking this old. “What is it?”

I stood. “Vince.”

His face contorted. “What now?”

“We got a John Doe in the ER. Busted neck. Vince won’t do the case.”

“It sounds complex.”

“Doc, don’t go down that path. He can do it. We can do it. He blew me off.”

“These are difficult decisions.”

“My ass. It’s a John Doe. He wants nothing to do with them. That’s why we pay him a fucking grand a call.” I was too loud.

B took me by the arm and led me to an empty suite. “He told me he wasn’t going to take any cases today. He’s leaving tomorrow morning.”

“What the hell are we gonna do with the patient?”

“Half pant.”

“What?”

“Call half pant surgeon.”

Was he shitting me? “No way. It’s Vince’s call. He’s already got his grand. It’s his case.”

“Call half pant.”

John Doe needed help. I’d deal with Vince later.

***

No cell reception in the OR, so I rushed to the waiting area. As soon as I walked in, a flock of petrified family members approached me. For a moment, I was disoriented, like a man just entering a room with the lights out. Then it hit me. My scrubs, mask, and gloves.

“I’m not a doctor,” I said, sounding like a moron. “I’m not,” I pleaded with them to believe me.

I fumbled with the buttons on my phone. Vuckovich, nothing came up. I couldn’t have. I tried again. V-U Still nothing. Then it hit me. I looked around to see if I’d get caught. 7-footer. I punched it in. Bingo. The phone rang once. “Yo.” His voice so loud it hurt. Koko Taylor blasted in the background. I could picture him, head bobbing, fingers fretting his invisible Gibson. “Yo,” he yelled again. “What’s up?”

“We got a John Doe in the ER.”

He didn’t let me finish. “On my way.” Sirens blared over Koko. I pictured him speeding down 63rd Street in that black chop-shopped hearse. “Don’t get pulled over. I hear sirens.”

“Siren’s mine. I told you, my guy pimped this baby out. Ten minutes.” His phone went dead.

***

I called Shaneese in the ER. “Dr. Vuckovich is on his way.”

“Dr. Who?”

“Vuckovich,” I said. “Send the John Doe to the OR with everything you got on him.”

“One second,” She said. “Can I help you?”

“Where’s the OR?” I heard over the commotion.

“Who the hell are you?” Shaneese did not mince words.

“Igor.”

“Igor?” Her voice rose over the craziness.

“Shaneese!” I shouted.

“I can’t talk!” she said. ”I got a crazy monster in here, wearing flowery shorts,” her voice rose, “a black hat, and a pair of nasty feet, telling me he got to go to the OR.”

“That’s Dr. Vuckovich.”

“You playin’ with me.”

“Shaneese, I’m not. He’s got temporary privileges. He’s gonna do the case.”

“A big ass man comin’ in here…”

“I’ll explain later. Just get him to the OR.”

“Who parked a hearse in the doctors’ parking lot?” Al, our ER security guard, yelled over the ruckus.

“It’s not a hearse.” I heard Dr. V retort.

“Shaneese, get him to the OR.”

Five minutes later, the elevator door opened. Removing his hat, then ducking his head to get out, Igor Vuckovich appeared, carrying a red duffle bag with a white crescent and TURKEY emblazoned on its side. He looked around the waiting room, spotted me, and smiled.

I gave him a confused look.

“From my playing days. You doin’ surgery now?” He pointed at my scrubs.

“He’s in there.” I nodded to where they’d taken John Doe, ignoring his joke.

“You are a doctor,” a visitor said.

“He’s not,” Dr. V interrupted, “but I am.”

“I never seen no doctor who look like you.”

“Me either,” V smiled. “Let’s rock and roll.”

I swiped my card and the doors slid open.

He entered, again bowing his head, this time not removing his hat. He dropped his bag on the floor and grabbed a package wrapped in plastic and a CD. He ripped open the plastic removing the largest pair of scrubs I’d ever seen and began dressing in the middle of the OR. The legs traveled past my chin. The arms could have served as a strait jacket for a lineman on the Bears, and his booties looked like canoe paddles. Our staff was in awe, speechless, jaws descending to the floor.

Dr. Balakrishnan approached Dr. V, “Thank you for helping us.”

“Dev, you assisting on this?”

“I…” B paused.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“I…”

I’d never seen Balakrishnan so lost for words.

“Here.” V tossed the CD to one of the techs. “Koko Taylor track 2. Anesthesia?”

“In the suite already.” Danny, our tech, said, looking ready to jive to Koko. “Wait!” Danny shouted.

V swung around. “What?”

Danny jumped removing V’s cowboy hat. “Now you’re good.”

“Thanks,” V said.

Dr. V scrubbed his immense fingers, paws and forearms in the sink. He motioned for Dr. B to join.

They toweled off and donned fresh masks, eyes meeting each other’s. “Let’s go,” V said to B.

The sight of this odd couple entering surgical suite 1, B’s suite, that he shared with absolutely no one, caused me grave consternation. What scared the shit out of me was a squatty little urologist assisting a seven foot orthopod with complex surgery. At the same time I was invigorated like a man who’d just slugged a double espresso.

“We gotta fix this.” I heard Dr. V laugh, raising the OR lights to their highest, then sliding the tiny platform stool we had made for Dr. B, in his direction.

The doors to the suite slid shut.

And that was that. Our new eccentric, Blues-playing, Koko Taylor-loving, orthopod worked side by side with our diminutive, Board-fearing Chief Medical Officer, saving the life of Mr. John Doe.

This is what we did. This is what we should do.

I waited in the family area, still wearing my scrubs, playing chess, losing to a man with no teeth.

The door slid open. B standing next to V. Both tired, sweaty, and smiling. Visitors’ eyes rose to the men in the doorway. “He made it.” V announcing to the crowd. “He made it,” B softly echoing V.

“You were magnificent,” Balakrishnan placed his hand in Vuckovich’s. “Magnificent.”

“We worked well together.” V rubbed B’s shoulder.

“No, what you did was remarkable.”

“Koko.” He smiled.

The toothless man, who’d just beaten me in chess four times in a row, stood. “Thank the Lord Jesus for these two fine men.” His smile warm, his eyes bright. He then began to clap. Another visitor stood, then another. The room now full, with deafening applause bouncing off the walls. Igor and Dev, exhausted, soaking in their well-earned recognition.

“Let’s go.” Dr. V’s voice cut through the acknowledgement.

We stripped off our scrubs and headed toward the parking lot.

“Go? Where?” Balakrishnan asked.

“Celebrate! Mexican! We’ll take Ms. Koko. My treat!”

I paused…fuck me…I hated Mexican.

“You in?” B asked me like an excited little kid.

I’d brought this strange creature here, a mammoth guitar-playing behemoth, but without Dr. Dev Balakrishnan’s help, Mr. John Doe would be dead, and I’d be going after Vince like a hit man.

But Mexican? C’mon.

“You’re wasting time. Let’s go. I sit in front.”Balakrishnan was almost giddy.

John Doe was not dead. He was alive.

“I’m in,” I said, reaching for Koko’s back door.

“Nope,” Dr. V said.

He tossed me the keys. “You’re driving.”

#fiction

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magicalmischel · 7 years

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SPN 13x06 Coda

summary: Two extra Destiel hugs, first kiss, the talk we know they need to have, basically everything we needed in the episode. :D (And Dean's the one to put that hat on Cas!)Starts with what happened in the bunker after they decided to go to Dodge City, and continues with what happened after Sam and Jack left the room, leaving grumpy Dean with his coffee and Cas behind.

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12766581

fanfiction.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12692111/6/Nothing-Else-Matters

Enjoy! :)

DODGE CITY COWBOYS

“Alright, well, two salty hunters, one half-angel kid, and a dude just came back from the dead again, Team Free Will 2.0, here we go!” Dean says and turns away from them, heading happily for the stairs. Dodge City, he’s been dreaming of finding a case there for so long!

“Dude,” Sam stops him though. When Dean turns around, not one member of the new Team Free Will except for him moved. “We’ve just come back,” Sam protests.

“And?”

“And I’d like to at least pack new clothes,” Sam clarified. “Besides, Jack isn’t packed at all.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’ll wait here, just hurry up.”

Sam sighs, but can’t help but smile at his brother’s new attitude as he and Jack leave the war room and head for their rooms to pack. Dean just sits down at the table and looks up at Cas, who’s the only one who stayed behind.

And that’s good. It’s good. Dean doesn’t know if he could let him out of his sight after- He might feel great about the case in Dodge City momentarily, but he’s more thrilled because they just got Cas back and . . . and he doesn’t want to die anymore. He’ll never forget how it felt to have that enormous empty hole inside him when Cas was . . . when he was gone.

“Dean?” he hears the angel call his name. He must have blanked out because Cas is already by the table, walking towards him with a worried expression on his face. Dean can’t help but smile, even though Cas looks worried. He’s there. He’s alive. “Are you alright?”

“I am now,” Dean nods at him. When Cas stops in front of his chair, Dean sighs and gives him a sincere smile. “I wasn’t though,” he admits before he stands up, his eyes never leaving Cas’.

He hesitates a little before he leans closer and wraps his arms around Cas one more time. Cas seems a little surprised, but he doesn’t say anything and wraps his arms around Dean as well, tightening the hug. “I’m really glad you’re back, Cas,” he mumbles into his shoulder and since they’re alone now, he allows himself to hold on to Cas a little bit longer, and a little bit tighter. Only a few hours ago he was gone after all. And now he’s back. Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, trying to make himself say those three big words he knows he has to admit at some point. But all he does is purse his lips and open his eyes again.

“I’m glad to be alive too,” Cas pats his back, moving his hand that’s resting on Dean’s hip up to his waist.

“I missed you,” Dean says instead and pulls away, quickly brushing away the tears that escaped his eyes. He just hopes that Cas didn’t notice them. Then he glances around them, thankful that Sam and Jack are still gone. “I missed you. A lot.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Cas offers and he looks concerned again - he must have seen his tears. Dean knows he’ll talk to him eventually. There are so many things he wants to tell him, needs to tell him, but not now. Not when they’re about to leave for another case. Together.

So he takes a deep breath and nods at Cas. “Not now though,” he adds.

Castiel nods as well and purses his lips. Then he smiles at Dean. “Well, I’m here now.”

Dean can’t help but grin at that. “You are. And we’re going to Dodge City. Man, Dodge City is so awesome, you’re gonna love it.” He puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder and smiles.

“I’ve never been there before.”

“I know,” Dean nods. “Oh, my hat!” he says with another smile and turns away from Cas, walking quickly to his room. Cas follows him.

“What hat?”

“I can’t believe I almost forgot it here,” Dean says instead, opening the door to his room and going in. Cas follows him inside and just keeps standing there as Dean opens the closet and reaches to the back, under all his flannel shirts. And of course it’s there. His cowboy hat. He never thought he’d use it again, but that day is here and he can’t believe how much he missed wearing it.

He puts the hat on his head experimentally and turns to look at Cas, who only raises his eyebrows. “How do I look?” he asks and puts both his hands into his pockets.

“Like . . . a cowboy,” Cas squints his eyes at him.

“Exactly,” Dean nods with a grin. “And that’s what Dodge City is all about.”

Before either of them can say anything else, they hear Sam from the war room, “Dean?”

“We’re coming!” he yells and adjusts the hat on his head. Then he winks at Cas like a cowboy, quickly walking away as he realizes what he just did, and prompting Cas to follow him only by lightly touching his elbow.

They’re going to Dodge City. Finally.

And he’s getting Cas a cowboy hat, whether he likes it or not.

xoXÖXox

Dean gladly fills his motel mug with the coffee that Cas prepared for them and sits down on the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He stares grumpily in front of himself as he holds the mug. His eyes still aren’t fully open.

“I told you,” he hears Cas say to Jack, “he’s an angry sleeper. Like a bear.”

A bear? Seriously?

Dean tries to ignore it as he sips his hot coffee.

“Okay, so code three means an officer down,” Sam explains, “looks like the victim was-”

“Covered in bite marks,” Jack finishes for him. “Like from a zombie!”

“Or anything else that has teeth,” Dean tells him, his voice still rough.

“Alright, change of plans,” Sam sighs, ”Jack and I will hit the graveyard, you and Cas hit up the crime scene.” He closes his laptop.

“Works for me,” Dean agrees, still sipping his coffee.

Sam, Jack, and Cas all stand up, but Dean isn’t ready to go so he doesn’t even move. Instead, he points at his coffee and tries to tell Cas to wait until he finishes, hoping that the angel sees it because he doesn’t even have the energy to look up at him yet.

Thankfully, Cas sits back down and only Sam leaves the room with Jack in tow.

Maybe he is like a bear. He certainly takes a long time to wake up, and he might be a little bit grumpy, but he knows that Cas doesn’t mind. So they just sit in the room in a companionable silence while Dean sips his coffee.

Cas is just watching him.

After they finally hear Sam and Jack close the door and leave the room for good, Dean looks up at Cas and realizes that the angel has been watching him the entire time.

“What,” he asks and takes another sip.

“Nothing,” Cas looks away but glances back at Dean eventually.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Spill.”

Castiel is silent for a while. Then he sighs and looks at Dean and at his coffee, probably deciding if he should talk about what he wants to talk about. Before Dean can say something again though, Cas sighs and finally says, “you said you wanted to talk.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to be silent.

He did tell Cas that he wanted to talk to him later. He said he’d talk when they had the time or were alone and now that they were . . . Well, he should start talking. But damn, he just woke up.

“You want to do that now?” Dean asks, avoiding the conversation for as long as he can.

“If it doesn’t bother you.”

Dean sighs and takes another sip. “Alright,” he closes his eye briefly. And since there’s no good way to start this talk, he just sighs and asks, “well, what do you want to know?”

“You said you weren’t alright.”

“I wasn’t,” Dean nods.

“What happened?”

Dean just looks at Cas. Isn’t it obvious? Does it really need saying? “You died,” he says when Cas seems he wants to hear it. “Mom was gone too and all we were left with was Lucifer’s kid . . . Jack.”

“What happened to Mary?” Cas asks. They haven’t talked about that yet, not even in the car.

“She punched the Devil and got trapped in the apocalypse world with him,” Dean shrugs while he stares at his coffee. Maybe he shouldn’t pretend like he doesn’t care, but right now he’s finally okay and actually happy ever since the night Cas died and if he thinks about mom too much, all of that could disappear. And he doesn’t want to ruin this.

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” Cas tells him, “I should have been here, I-”

“Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault,” Dean stops him with another hand gesture. “Thanks for the coffee by the way.”

When he doesn’t stand up and just stares at the coffee some more, Cas speaks again. “How are you feeling?” he asks. And Dean can’t think of any other question that he’d rather not answer right now. He just woke up, damn it.

But this is Cas. And only a few hours ago, he thought he was dead, but now he’s sitting in front of him, looking at him with those two deep blue eyes of his, new tie and a trench coat and dark tousled hair that are just asking for a cowboy hat.

Dean’s eyes drop from Cas’ hair back to his eyes and he smiles. “Now that you’re back? Much better,” he says. “To be honest, I think that after you d- after you died,” he makes himself say it, looking down briefly, “I think that for me, there was just no point in anything anymore.” He knows that Cas wants to say something, but he doesn’t let him, “I don’t remember the last time I felt that bad, to be honest. And you were almost too late, he adds under his breath.

“What do you mean?” Cas squints his eyes at him. Now he looks even more concerned.

“I met Billie,” Dean clarifies.

“But I-”

“Yeah, and she became Death thanks to that. The Death. And I met her.” He really missed the confused face Cas is making. The way he tilts his head, just slightly - way less than he used to, but he still does it, and the way he narrows his eyes and just looks at Dean . . .

“I . . . I killed myself,” Dean admits before Cas can say anything. Now that he’s talking, it’s almost hard to stop. Everything is coming out and he knows he needs to say all those things, so he doesn’t even try to stop. He just takes a deep breath. “It was stupid, I thought I could fix it, but the point was that I didn’t even care. And then when I found out I couldn’t fix it, it was too late and Billie found me. I could have stayed dead, but apparently, we’re important.”

“You are important, Dean,” Cas finally stands up and walks over to him. Dean waits until Cas is standing right in front of him before he looks up. “You are important to so many people, both you and Sam. You’re important to Jack and to me.”

Dean just blinks. “You’re important to me too,” he says. That was so close to the three words he wants to say. “And I don’t want to die anymore. You’re back and . . . Look around, we’re in Dodge City,” he smiles. Then he finishes his coffee in one big gulp.

Cas takes the mug away from him without a word and puts in on the table. Dean stands up in the meantime, “thanks,” he smiles.

“Dean, I don’t think it’s healthy to become suicidal over a death of a friend,” Cas continues without acknowledging what Dean said. He looks into Dean’s eyes that aren’t tired anymore and looks so concerned that Dean can’t help but roll his eyes.

Because Cas still doesn’t get it. He doesn’t fucking get it and it’s all Dean’s fault because he never built up the courage to tell him. Dean Winchester. Ready to fight monsters wherever they are but too afraid to voice his fucking feelings.

And it’s not like he doesn’t know how he feels, he’s known for a long time, but Cas doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it.

So that’s why Dean decides to do something else. “You’re not just a friend, Cas,” he says. And then, without any warning, he walks to the angel and plants a big but brief kiss on his lips. He even closes his eyes, no matter how short it was. But Cas just stares at him, wide eyes, not even blinking. “You’re so much more than a friend,” Dean continues. He’s never been good with words. But then again, Cas isn’t either. And without his first move, they’d be avoiding this moment for who knew how many more years. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t move on, but I just couldn’t. It was too much. Losing mom and you, you . . .“ he puts his hand on Cas’ shoulder and squeezes, “it was all just too much, and I couldn’t take it.”

“I understand,” Cas looks into his eyes as if searching for something.

“Cas, there’s something I should have told you a long time ago. And if not before, what happened with Ishim should have made me say it, but it didn’t and I’m sorry it didn’t. I thought it was too late, but now you’re back and I can . . . We can finally-”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish that sentence as Cas brings him close by his t-shirt and kisses him. It’s longer than before, and so warm and firm and yet the gentle moves of lips against lips are making Dean dizzy. He can’t believe it’s actually happening. And in Dodge City!

“I love you,” he blurts out when he gasps for breath. He whispers the words again against Cas’ lips, just to be sure Cas hears them, “I love you. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“I know,” Cas nods as he captures his lips again. “I love you too.”

“You do?” Dean laughs softly, bringing his hands from Cas’ hips to his waist and wrapping them around him. This is the third hug he got in the last twenty-four hours. Yes, he’s a very lucky man.

“Of course I do,” Cas nods as he wraps his own arms around Dean tightly. “I always have. It just took me a long time to realize it and even longer to finally say it.”

Dean smiles at that. “You and me both,” he says. Then he pulls away and kisses Cas again, only briefly. His eyes brighten up as he smiles at him, “we should probably get going.”

“You’re right,” Cas agrees.

They start moving after that. Dean goes for his suit and puts it on, Cas washes the mug and tastes the coffee. Before they leave the room, Dean stops him.

“Wait,” he says.

“What?”

“There’s something missing.” Dean looks up at Cas’ hair, who awkwardly touches it and tries to adjust his locks as if expecting Dean to tell him his hair is anything but perfect. Dean just smiles and then looks around the room.

And there it is. The perfect hat, just hanging on the wall, asking to be put on Cas’ head. Dean reaches for it and smiles at Cas, who just keeps looking at him absolutely clueless. It’s cute. It’s really cute.

“Here,” Dean smiles as he puts the hat on Cas’ head. “Much better.”

Cas frowns at him. “No, this is absurd,” he says. “I can’t wear that.”

“Of course you can, look,” Dean reaches for his own cowboy hat that he left on the table and puts it on his head, smirking at Castiel. “See? Now they won’t even know we’re not from Dodge City.”

Cas tilts his head at him, but he doesn’t squint his eyes. Instead, he looks disbelieving.

“Come on,” Dean pleads him. “For me.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but there’s a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. “Alright,” he says.

“You’re the best,” Dean grins and leans in to give him another kiss. Cas makes it longer by bringing Dean closer with a hand on his neck, and when they part again, he’s smiling as well.

Dean steps away from him a little bit, looking up and down at his new boyfriend and his new look. And okay, yeah, maybe he didn’t think of everything when he decided to give Cas that hat because just looking at him seemed almost impossible without- well, it was hot. It was really hot.

“Here we go,” he clears his throat, keeping the proud smile on his face. And as they’re leaving the room, he throws his arm around Cas’ shoulders, muttering, “cowboy of the lord.”

“I don’t believe that is a correct term, Dean.”

“It is now.”

And the door closes behind them, the room now empty. Only soft laughing and talking can be heard from the hall, where a hunter who recently found his hope again and his angel, are walking together, hand in hand, to solve another case.

Thanks for reading! :)

#destiel #supernatural #spn coda #spn s13 coda #my fanfiction #my supernatural fanfiction #destiel fanfic

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